The Magnate
by Halt.CPM
Summary: Voldemort's mastery of dark power was unrivaled in history. Grindelwald's legendary charisma came a hairsbreadth from bringing Europe to its knees. "Now, which one will it be for you, Mr. Potter?" Massive AU, Durmstrang Harry
1. The Birth of Greatness

**Chapter 1: The Birth of Greatness**

"Our world was dying." the Lord Slytherin began, voice slow and soft. Yet his words carried across the plaza easily, willing themselves to be heard. His captive audience, a thousand skull masks standing in rigid vigil, heard his every sound with complete clarity despite the distance.

"I woke up one day and saw the truth for what it was. For every pure-born that entered the Society, there were two more mages born from..." his handsome features contorted, as if he were forced to swallow something particularly bitter, "_muggles_. We were faced with insurmountable odds, a seemingly unending tide of barbarians endangering our very way of life."

"We demanded something be done, but our government, so infested with blood traitors, was crippled by inaction and incompetence." Here, his voice became a passionate, angry crescendo that punctuated every word. "The oblivion of culture a millennia old, and some chose to remain blind! Even worse, some embraced it!"

"What woman abandons her lineage? What man rejects his traditions? What people forget their history? Our world stood at the crossroads, and those of us who were faithful, those of us still believed…we made a choice. We chose to fight." A growl of assent greeted him, the first sign of life from the gathered.

"Every inch we took, every battle we won, we paid for in full and in blood. Pure blood." His voice became somber, extinguished of the fire it held, and for a moment, he looks mournful even. "Hundreds of people lay dead. People we could never replace, people with the gift of magic."

"Yet, we endured." A clenched fist rose. "'Why?' I have been asked countless times. 'Why the sacrifice? Why the pain and toil? Why fight?'" he asked, spreading his arms invitingly to the crowd.

"It is because of our responsibility to those before us and those after us." Eyes swept from side to side, spotting the nodding heads and knowing smiles. "My Knights of Walpurgis understand this solemn duty: the obligation to preserve the old and teach the young. No conscious thoughts were necessary."

"So together we endured, together we fought…and together we _triumphed_!" The deafening roar of approval tore through the air. "We bring about a new age - a golden age - of magic and of purity!"

A chant began from the Knights. "Pu-ri-ty!" they shout in a simple three beat rhythm accompanied with the thumping of chests. "Pu-ri-ty!" The fervor spreading from these pockets in an ever expanding circle until the entire crowd has been seized with ardent passion.

"This, my friends," the Lord Slytherin smiled at his chanting Knights, wand raised in salute at the climax of their euphoria, "is but the beginning of our revolution!"

-The Walpurgis Compendium: A Pensieve Recollection – "The Beginning of Revolution" (London, 1982)

_-The Magnate-_

"I don't want that _woman_ in this house."

The quill in James Potter's hand stilled abruptly, his attempt at a letter "e" smudging the parchment with inky blots. Quill now resting in inkpot, he took a moment to set aside his half-finished letter, before leaning back into his leather chair in anticipation of the next spat with his lawful spouse.

"Shall I arrange for lessons to be held in the broom shed then?" he answered wryly, steepling his fingers in front of him.

The brown-haired woman huffed and crossed her arms. "That's not what I _meant_." she more hissed than said really, dropping into the seat across James'.

"We're lucky she agreed to tutor the kids. She's a well known Charms Mistress. Do you realize how difficult it is to hire someone of her academic standing?" he said.

"I don't want her near my son."

"And she won't be," James assured her, before his tone gained a forceful edge to it, "but she will be teaching _mine_." he said, maintaining a façade of calm in spite of the flaring anger, the kind that any husband would be wary of, beneath her eyes.

"No mudblood should be teaching a member of the Potter family!" she spat out, a scowl marring her normally elegant features. "I might not be his birth mother, but I am still the woman of this household!"

And normally that would be fine…if she wasn't such a bigot. Hence, Harry would always receive substandard education if she was left unchecked, James knew. That left him with his last resort: an exchange.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with Harry's education anymore. I'll be taking over from now on, but you may teach Robert in whatever way you see fit."

A flash of hurt showed, but she weighed the option in silent contemplation nonetheless. "Fine," she spoke forced calm, which left James wondering if he preferred this over outright anger, "you've made it clear that the half-blood bastard is yours to take care of, but don't think for an instant that I'll let a mudblood teach our heir." With her piece spoken, she stormed out of the room, passing by a curious Sirius Black on the way.

Sirius knocked on the still open door, announcing his presence. "Trouble with the wife, James?" The ease in which he delivered he words betrayed his familiarity with the situation.

James spared his best friend a wounded glance, before standing to pour himself a glass of scotch. "Unfortunately." A heavy exhale escaped his lips. "Want one?" James asked, swishing the amber liquid around invitingly.

"Really?" went unsaid, though the raised brow conveyed it well enough. "It's barely six," Sirius said.

James shrugged unrepentantly, downing his drink in one go before placing his glass back in the alcohol cabinet. "Sometimes, I wonder how different life might've been if I married Lily after Hogwarts."

"You'd have fewer fights, for one, because Evans had you whipped," said Sirius, well aware that his friend never had the strength to deny his former love what she wanted, except for one time.

"Just me, her and Harry." murmured James wistfully, his hand passing through his already messy hair.

"Look on the bright side, James." Sirius' attempt at consolation earned him a skeptical look. "Now hear me out, Melissa might not be the most pleasant person to get along with, but at least she's hot. And let's not forget my gem of a godson. Can you honestly tell me you'd rather Robert was never born?"

At his words, the ends of James' lips curled into a faint smile. "Thanks Padfoot."

His reassuring nod said what his mouth didn't. "What are friends for?"

"Are you staying for dinner? Knowing Zippy, she's probably enough cooked for a small army."

Sirius was already shaking his head, face turning grim. "Not tonight. We're heading out."

Startled by the sudden one-eighty in attitude, James glanced at the darkening skies through his window, then at the calendar on his desk. "It's not a full moon tonight."

"No, it isn't, but Moony's…" Sirius hesitated, eyes darting around suspiciously, "well, it's not my right to say." He reached up and stroked the flap of his ear twice.

James' eyes lit up with sudden understanding. It was part of a secret code from their old school days. "Sensitive information, area unsecure." it meant. Of course, "sensitive information" didn't mean a life or death situation before and "area unsecure" then wasn't concerning spies, but that was the gist of the message.

"I'll grab my coat."

Sirius stepped outside, giving James a moment to clear his desk and put on his cloak. A minute later he joined his friend and made to leave. Or they would have had, if not for two sweating, disheveled boys running at them.

One was a miniature James Potter, except for one crucial detail. The recently-turned-ten-year-old boy's eyes were green, the same as his mother's. Harry Potter, the eldest, but not the heir.

The other, a lad of eight, had softer, rounder features. His hair was auburn, which was his mother showing. Robert Potter, the younger and the beneficiary of the modest Potter estate. The legitimate son, born from duty, who society had arbitrarily decided was the worthier of the two based on the mere circumstances of their birth.

Not that either knew that currently, and that was how James Potter intended to keep things. They were still young. It would be a tragedy to set them against each other, for few things were more sacred in the world than the bonds of brotherhood. James' eyes briefly darted towards Sirius, his chosen brother in all but name, wishing, not for the first time, that his parents had adopted Sirius when he had been disowned from the Black family.

A persistent tugging on his cloak broke the chains that reflection placed on one's mind.

"Daddy!" Robert squealed, giggling happily in the carefree manner only children under the age of ten could manage. "Uncle Sirius!"

"Father, Uncle Sirius." Harry nodded respectfully to each in greeting.

Sirius chuckled, patting Harry in the head condescendingly. "You're too polite for your age. I don't think I ever called my father 'father' until I was in my teen years," he reminisced. Sirius hadn't afforded the term with the same politeness either, James thought.

Harry's face scrunched up, looking like he was trying to recall something. "Mother says I'll be part of society soon. She says I'm to act the part as a son of a pureblood...and that she would be most displeased if I brought shame to the family."

James shared a worried look with Sirius. Just what in the hell was that woman teaching his son? He was beginning to sound like one of those pureblood snobs he went to school with for Merlin's sake!

"So, just came back from Quidditch practice then?" Sirius asked in the lull of conversation.

"Yup!" they answered together cheerily. It was, without a doubt, their favorite activity of the week.

"Tell your mother I'm going out for the night and not to wait up, alright? I've got some urgent business." He glanced around just to be sure she wasn't nearby, before leaning in conspiratorially. "I might have time to pass by Diagon Alley later. You boys want anything?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"Candy!"

James stood up, promising the eager boys their fair share of sweets. Ah, it was good to be the favorite parent!

"Oh and Harry?"

Curious, green orbs met his own black ones. "Yes father?"

"I've spoken to your mother-" _Forgive me for lying, Harry._ "-and from now on I'll be in charge of your education. I've arranged for a tutor to make sure you don't hurt yourself while learning magic, seeing how eager you are to get started."

A grin broke out on Harry's face, mirroring how James felt, despite the stern mask he was forced to don. "Of course, this comes at some conditions. No more swiping wands when your mother isn't looking and especially no more trying to do magic without supervision," James said in his most disciplining voice. "I want you to promise me, son. I'm being serious here. Wanting to learn magic, that's normal for any boy your age, but unsupervised magic is dangerous stuff."

"I promise." Judging by the fervent nods, he probably would have sold his soul away without blinking or even better, agree to be their house elf for life.

"Good, now the tutor I chose is a muggleborn, but despite what your mother says about them, she is more than qualified to teach. I want you to treat her with utmost respect. You will attend lessons on time and listen to her instructions without fail. Am I clear?"

Another nod, another promise secured.

"Good." James said. "Lessons will be held on Tuesdays and Fridays. See you boys later."

"Quite the parent you've become," Sirius said once they had Apparated away. "Looking for advanced instruction for your kids? I never thought I'd see the day James Potter promoted studying!"

James shrugged. "Learning magic is a bonus. I just don't want him growing up having never met his mum and I'm sure Lily is desperate to see him too."

"You don't think Melissa will see through it though?"

"I have no doubts that she will, and she'll be giving them a hard time about it too…but it'll be worth it." _I hope_, he added in his head.

"For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice." Sirius said, slapping him on the back. "Let's see what Moony's up to, shall we?"

They found their mutual friend in his humble abode that was well kept, which was the only positive thing you could say about it. It was too small, more suitable for dwarves than wizards really and the signs of damage were there, despite its occupant's best attempts to patch it up.

"Should we wait for Peter?" James asked.

"No," Sirius answered, "he told me he'd catch up later on."

They headed outside apartment quickly, seeing as it was far too cramped for three grown wizards, and into the Alley. The first pub they tried was a nice establishment James tried just the other week.

The bouncer had a scrutinizing gaze that hardened when it landed on Moony. "Sorry, we don't serve his kind here."

"His kind?" Sirius acted confused. This ploy had worked a few times before.

The bouncer showed them a nasty grin and showed them an amulet hidden in his robes. "This here's a half-breed detector. Warns me whenever, say, a _werewolf_, is around."

Remus Lupin was a rugged man with sandy hair looking close to his thirties. If not for his appearance, he would be the perfect gentleman. Everything about him, from his charming, if mild, manners to his soft-spoken words which were brimming with intellect portrayed an individual that should have been successful in life.

As the bouncer callously pointed out, he was a werewolf, which had shot that idea to hell.

The people that had heard the declaration instinctively coiled back in fright, whispering and pointing at Remus, as if his very presence was a crime.

"Come on." James led them away before an incident occurred. "We'll try the Leaky Cauldron. Ol' Tom never let us down before."

The Leaky Cauldron was not as rundown as it sounded. Tom, the barkeeper, seated them quickly, which wasn't too difficult since it was mostly empty on nights like this.

Their fourth friend, Peter, joined them after half an hour. A late shift was his excuse.

Peter Pettigrew was a mousy looking fellow. To most he seemed like a coward whom the three associated with out of pity, for he did not bring anything apparent to the table. Yet, those who knew him knew of his value as a man who could get into the most secure places in the world without much trouble. Elusive as a rat and sly as a fox, he was born to survive in nearly any condition.

So when the Dark Lord took over, he was the one who bounced back the fastest among the four with a comfy, well-paying Ministry job under the Regime.

"I refuse to sell out," Remus said, crossing his arms.

"It's not that bad a job, considering the pay," Peter argued. "You scare a few people, mostly to stop them from getting killed for boldness."

"Oppression is what it is!"

Peter shrugged. "Sometimes, you just have to get by."

"Look Remus," James interjected before the discussion became more heated, "we're not saying you should do as Peter suggests, but there's got to be another way. Me and Sirius don't mind spotting you some coin."

"That's charity, James."

"It's a favor among friends." was James' futile counter. Once the "C" word was mentioned, Lupin could, would become as stubborn as a troll.

"Leaving the country isn't the solution," Sirius said, setting down his drink.

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look guys, I thought long and hard about this before deciding. This isn't some spur of the moment thing I'm pulling. The fact is," he stressed, "there's no employment opportunity for a werewolf in Britain, especially one that went against the Dark Lord in the war." He raised a hand to ward off their arguments.

"And even if I put my morals aside to work for the Ministry, Peter could never get me a spot. Fenrir Greyback runs that show and the only way he'd let me in is if there was a body bag waiting on the other side."

That was the crux of the problem. Fenrir Greyback, possibly the most vicious werewolf in all of Britain and one of the Dark Lord's trusted Knights, held a vendetta against Remus, for reasons even his closest friends didn't know of.

The three remained silent, coming to terms with the reality that their friend was leaving the country, and would likely never return.

"What are you going to do in Eastern Europe?" asked James, shattering the silence with curiosity.

"I'm probably going to be a tracker for a while. The Potions trade is booming over there." Remus rubbed his chin, which his friends knew he did only when planning something. "I might try my hand at teaching. A Hogwarts education should warrant that much even with my condition."

"I hear the Bulgarian Veelas are even better than the French ones," Sirius said, tone light and lecherous. "You should definitely tap that while you're there. Merlin knows you need to get laid."

James and Peter shared a laugh, and even the stoic Lupin cracked a smile. "I will, if only because you'll never get the chance, Padfoot."

Another round of raucous laughter ensued, followed by the distinctive sound of a second fire whiskey bottle opening. In the early morning before the first light even, they saw him off. "A Portkey to France first," Remus said, his old school trunk in hand.

_Can't believe he managed to fit everything in there without an Expansion Charm_.

"From there, " Remus continued, "I have a second Portkey schedules to bring my to Budapest. I can make my way further east on foot, if it's called for."

James watched his friend for the longest time walk out of his life, a sense of unease stirring in his chest. Dark clouds hung overhead.

_A storm is brewing_.

_-The Magnate-_

_**16 October 1990**_

Tap, tap, tap, went Harry's foot. "Robert, hurry up!"

His dad chuckled behind him. "What's with the rush, Harry? You can't actually be late for the Center and it's not like I'm in any rush."

Harry turned around to frown at him. "I, well...Mother says punctuality is a virtue any proper wizard should practice."

James raised a brow at him, quietly sipping his coffee from behind the kitchen counter. Harry flushed and murmured, "I don't want to keep my friends waiting."

"They won't mind terribly, I'm sure," Dad said.

Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, then called out "Robert!" once more.

"Coming!" his brother answered this time, hasty steps down the staircase reaching them.

"Breakfast?" Dad asked, gesturing to a plate of toast and eggs on the counter. "Zippy made your favorite."

Robert shifted his gaze from the sandwich to the side of Harry's hip then back to the sandwich, as if considering something of world-shattering importance. "I'll eat it on the way," Robert said. In an instant, Zippy popped in, placed the food in a brown bag and offered it to Robert respectfully, before popping out of sight.

"Kids." James snorted. "Well, come on then," he said, stopping by the door to grab an umbrella. "Put on your cloak boys, it'll be chilly outside." Harry obliged, putting on his black cloak, plain and unremarkable except for the black winged horse - his favorite animal since forever - stitched onto the back. Robert's was the same, except his was an even larger winged creature - a dragon.

James stepped out the door and opened the umbrella, watching as it adjusted its radius a few times before settling on one perfect for the three of them. A raindrop stopped in front of Harry's eyes, sliding down as if there was a window in its way.

Robert glanced at Harry again, and the two shared an excited grin. "Remember your promise, Harry," Dad said, though he smiled too.

"It's so cool that you've got one," Robert said, then he turned to their dad. "When's my turn?"

James patted him on the head, ruffling his hair much to Robert's displeasure. "When you're older."

"That's what you always say," Robert said.

"Well, your mother and I haven't decided yet."

He pouted.

"Cheer up Rob," Harry said. "Soon enough, I'll get to do magic and you can watch." Father gave him a warning look. "Under the tutor's supervision, of course," he amended.

Rob's frown cracked a little and Harry decided to press forward. "Why don't we go flying after we get home?"

"Really?" Robert asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah, why not? Captain told us a game was coming up soon. We'll need the practice."

"Yes!"

James shook his head ruefully, the Center's doors now in sight. It was a very short walk from their home, and with how the muggle unconsciously avoided them, they could take a straight path to get here. "In you go, boys. Remember to behave."

"Yes Dad!" they said in unison, giving him a quick hug before running inside.

"See you later, Brother!" Robert said waving as he ran off in another direction. Harry waved back and went his own way.

"Good morning!" Harry greeted, a skip in his step as he neared three kids his age.

Lavender gave him a shy wave and a small smile.

"Aren't we in a good mood," Daphne said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes drifted down, then she smiled as she noticed the stick by his side, tucked into a hip holster.

"_Buongiorno_, Potter," Blaise said, his nose crinkling. "Parents _finally_ let you have one then?" He patted his own wand, clearly visible by his side as well.

"Obviously, Blaise," said Daphne. "Is it from Ollivanders'?" she asked, grey eyes sparking with unbidden interest. Her own wand, Harry knew, was hidden in her robes.

Harry grinned, his chest puffing out a little. "Yeah, got it on Saturday with my dad. Eleven inches and elm with freely given Abraxan feather."

"Have you done any...any _magic_ yet?" Lavender asked, scooting over to his side with wide eyes.

"Yeah Potter, I'm in need of a proper challenge to measure up against, after all," Blaise said.

"Excuse me?" Daphne narrowed her eyes at the dark-skinned wizard. "Just because you got your wand first-" Blaise smirked. "does not mean that you-" She clamped her mouth shut abruptly and shook her head.

"Aww, don't be like that, Daph. I'm just teasing." Blaise said. "Anyway, Potter hasn't answered yet."

"Er, I swore to my dad I wouldn't do magic outside of my lessons." Harry said. "Sorry."

"Oh," murmured Lavender, fiddling with her hair now. Her eyes darted down to her own side, noticeably without a wand of her own.

"Worried about that still?" Daphne asked. "Don't fret. You'll get a wand of your own any day now."

"A-are you sure?"

"Of course!" Blaise exclaimed, flashing her a charming smile. "You've got as much magic as her." He gestured to Daphne with a thumb. "Maybe not as much as me, but hey, we can't all be as great as I am." Daphne scowled at him, while Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

There was a distinct popping sound and a floppy eared creature with wrinkled, sallow skin appeared near them, carrying a tray of cookies and milk. Wordlessly, it paused before each of them with a bowed head as it offered them the treats as if they were royalty. Lavender got hers last and she gave the House Elf a smile. "Thank you."

The Elf's eyes became round as saucers, and it popped away in an instant.

Harry's eyes snapped towards Lavender, wide open. Daphne and Blaise had similar expressions on their face. "Lavender," Daphne began, "you know what our parents say about _that _kind of behavior."

"If you're nice to the Elf, you can only blame yourself," Blaise recited.

"Or as my dad likes to say," Harry said, "'Idle and free, not meant to be."

Lavender cringed under their scrutiny. "S-sorry. It slipped my mind."

"It's fine." Daphne waved her hand. "We all slip up now and again. Just keep it in mind? We don't want you getting in trouble with Mrs. Bridgemoot."

"Good thing she wasn't here," Harry added.

"Anyway Harry, when's your first lesson going to be?" Blaise asked.

"Tomorrow," he said, then frowned. "My tutor's muggleborn though." Blaise wrinkled his nose in disdain, Lavender twiddled her fingers and Daphne nodded.

Blaise crossed his arms. "That's one way to waste your talent," Blaise said. "What's your father thinking?"

"He's pretty confident she'll do a good job."

"I guess you'll just have to study harder to make up for it, Harry," Daphne said.

"Yeah, you'll need it if you want to be second place," Blaise quipped.

"Second place?" Daphne asked, tone low.

"I'm first obviously," Blaise said, taking two quick steps back to avoid her swipe before grinning, "but there's no shame in being second to a Zabini!"

"Be thankful I don't know any hexes yet!" Daphne screamed.

"Like my mum always says," Blaise said with a wink, "if you need to get violent, you're probably losing the argument." Harry laughed lightheartedly. Even Lavender was smiling.

"An argument?" Harry repeated. "I thought you were just _inherently_ superior. Didn't know it was up for debate."

Daphne paused, a slow-growing smile on her lips as she place a hand on her hip.

"A slip of the tongue, Potter." Blaise answered without missing a beat. "Obviously_, _I'm superior. I _am_ me."

"Right." Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Um, i-its my birthday next week," Lavender said.

"Congratulations?" Blaise said. Daphne's fist was moving before he could react, much faster than before. "Ouch!"

"Prat." She stuck a tongue out at him. "Go on, Lav."

"There's be a party," she said, smiling weakly. "If you guys want to go, that is."

"Of course we'll go," Daphne said, a scandalized look crossing her face.

"There'll be cake right?" Blaise asked. Lavender nodded tentatively. "Well, I suppose I _could _make time in my schedule..."

Harry snorted. "Come off it Blaise. We know how dreadfully busy you are in your house all day." He turned to Lavender. "I'll be there."

Lavender turned to Blaise, uncertainty on her face. "What? Yes, yes, of course I'm going. You can always make time for a friend."

_-The Magnate-_

It was common for those from magical backgrounds to seek out advanced instruction in specific subjects in order to develop their talents early on. This was in no way a requirement for entrance into a top school – such as Hogwarts, Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but it certainly didn't hurt to get a headstart. Among those from magical families, the practice was prevalent.

Over the years, it had caused a disparity between the performance of children from magical and non-magical backgrounds. Only a few muggleborns ever became practitioners of the magical arts with equal skill during the formative school years, so when one actually _topped _their year, it was understood that the person was exceptionally gifted.

Lily Evans was one such witch.

"Looking lovely as always, Pretty Lily," Potter greeted with a boyish smile, a trademark he retained from his Hogwarts days. He spread his arms wide, as if making to envelope her.

"Potter," she greeted, though made no moves to return his gesture. His smile faltered, then disappeared altogether under the withering glare the redhead refused to let up on. Potter's hands dropped to his sides almost as quickly as his nervous gaze dropped to his shoes.

"So…uh…how've things been?"

Nothing but the controlled heavy breathing James Potter was all too familiar with. The sound of a woman trying her hardest not to strangle him and James took the hint to shut up.

"Let's make something clear, Potter." The witch's words were sharp and biting, each one marked with a tone of malice usually reserved for enemies.

She took a forceful step forward and James took an instructive one backwards, nearly stumbling over. "What we had, what we once were, it's over. Finished." she paused, exhaling…dangerously. That was the only way James could describe it. "You don't ask about my life, and I don't ask about yours. Understood?"

James nodded mutely. He couldn't trust himself to say anything that _wouldn't _make this even worse for himself.

Lily nodded curtly, opened the door to the study and left him behind.

"Good morning, Miss!" her boy greeted politely, tilting his head.

Lily struggled as a torrent of emotion flooded her system, threatening to overwhelm her composure. Her breath hitched in her throat and she was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating. Her emotional state was a paradox of contrasting emotions; rapture and rage vying for dominance.

She mustn't be angry, her rational side knew. She should've been grateful to see him again. But one look at his face, which left no question as to who had sired him, summoned again the anger she felt for the father she was reminded of. Yet, she managed to keep it under control, for his eyes were a rich, deep emerald.

"Are you alright, Miss?" _Her son_ asked, sounding worried presumably at her unresponsiveness.

"I…yes, I'm quite alright. Thank you for asking, Harry. You don't mind if I call you that do you?" she said in one breath and it showed when it took Harry a while to decipher the rushed words.

"Uh, sure I guess. Whatever you want Miss."

"Please," Lily said, smiling brightly at the son she hadn't seen for eight years, "call me Miss Lily. It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

_-The Magnate-_

"_Formal education in the magical world officially begins at the age of eleven, so what do you with all your lads and lasses bouncing about with more energy than humanly possible? Simple, send them to the nearest Youth Center! These Ministry-operated Centers serve to bring the people of the Society closer together! Children from magical backgrounds can interact with others their age in a safe environment, under the watchful eyes of the appointed caretakers. To ensure convenience of access, a fireplace linked to the Floo system has been installed and more Centers have been opened to cater to certain magical enclaves." _

-Youth Center Pamphlet by the Department of Magical Education


	2. A Matter of Education

**Chapter 2: A Matter of Education**

"_Despite the long history of institutionalized educational establishments in the world, the public has never fully embraced the idea itself. Latest estimates by the Ministry of Magic (Britain) place national enrollment for magical education at 34%, while approximately 37% continue to seek out apprenticeships and a further 29% remain home-taught. This is a significant increase from the "Dumbledorean Period" (Pre-Purity Regime) which had enrollment at a mere 26%. Also of note is the fact that this is well above the international average (19%) and the European average (24%). There is now a growing inclination among parents to choose magical institutions to further the magical education of their children - given the advantages of a well-rounded education over immediate specialization - but it remains to be seen if this method will ever be the norm." _

-Annual Report on Magical Education (1993) by the Department of Magical Education

_**17 October 1990**_

"_Please," Lily said, smiling brightly at the son she hadn't seen for seven years, "call me Miss Lily. It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry." _

"So tell me, what do you know about magic?" Miss Lily asked.

"Well, you move your wand," Harry gave a demonstration, imperfectly mimicking a motion he'd seen his parents do countless times, "and say a Latin phrase, then it just sort of...happens."

Miss Lily's laugh was warm and disarming with a melodious ring to it. It was different from the high-pitched, haughty laugh of his mother and the deep, friendly chortle Dad had.

"That's one way of looking at it. Magic is, above all else, a gift; one that allows ordinary people to do extraordinary things." Her willow wand was in her hand in an instant and a miniature dragon appeared on the table between them, snarling and biting at the air.

Harry's eyes grew wide with amazement as he watched the conjuration stretch its wings, before taking flight around the room. "Wow," he breathed out when the lizard spat out a small, relatively harmless fireball. "Can you teach me to do that?"

"In time. You've got to learn the basics before we get to that." She smiled sweetly. Harry could've sworn it was just his imagination, but her eyes seemed more…alive? "Which subject would you like to start with first, Charms or Transfiguration?"

He gave the question careful thought. First Impressions were everything, or so Mother insisted. "Charms?" he said, not all too certain.

Lily's smile grew even wider, if that was possible, the white of her teeth showing now. "That's my mastery," she said, trying to sound casual, yet the hint of excitement intertwined with her tone was unmistakably there.

"Charms," Harry repeated.

"Well, the first charm they'll teach you in Hogwarts is the Levitation Charm." She demonstrated on the empty chair beside him, going through the wand motions and incantation slowly for Harry's benefit. Harry copied her actions as well as he could.

"Make your flick sharper, keep your wrist firm."

"Put the stress on the 'O', not the 'Sa'."

"No, no, the swish has to be softer, like sweeping the floor with a broom...there you go."

At last, she conjured a feather with effortless ease and placed it in front of him. Harry stared at it, frowning.

"It's best to start simple," Miss Lily said.

"Why?"

"A spell doesn't have to be cast perfectly to work properly, especially for simple tasks," she said. "The first step in learning a spell is to get a feel of the magic; perfection can come later."

"But…" he hesitated for a moment, before plowing forward. "If a spell does what it's supposed to already, why would anyone work harder than they needed to to perfect it?"

"That a good question," she said, nodding. "It's considered bad practice to work on a spell just so it's barely passable. Aside from the risk of forgetting how to do it, sloppy spellwork can fail you when needed the most." There was a pause, before she added, "You never know when a situation might require a perfected spell."

"Oh." He bit his lip, wanting to ask more. Lily seemed to sense this and waited patiently for him to ask. "What things affect a spell though?"

She glanced at something behind him, the clock probably. "The topic's a broad one, we don't have the time to cover this now, but I can give you a book about it the next time we meet, if you like?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."

"Now, try out the Levitation Charm."

The remainder of the two hour session passed quickly and Harry could honestly say he was a bit disappointed when their time was up. It was partly because he wanted to learn more magic; partly because Miss Lily was nice and pretty and supportive, unlike his mother, who had nothing but harsh words.

"So, what do you usually do in your free time?" Lily asked as she held open the study's door.

"I play Quidditch with my brother, Robert. We're on the Godric's Hollow team, you know," said Harry.

"That's impressive," she said, and Harry grinned, puffing out his chest like a peacock. "What position do you play?"

"Depends on what the Captain says. Seeker's my favorite, but I'm decent at Beating and Chasing." His easygoing smile turned into a grimace. "I hate playing as Keeper though."

Lily's brow arched. "Every position is important. I remember that much about it."

"Yeah, but playing defense is _so _boring."

A small smile tugged at Lily's lips. "Do you have practice today?"

"Nah, practices are on Wednesday mornings and Friday afternoons." There was a moment's silence. "Do you like Quidditch, Ms. Lily?"

"Sure, though I'm more of a spectator."

"That's great! I actually have a game next week against the Hogsmeade Hippogriffs, but Dad can't make it because he's busy, and Mother," -a look Harry couldn't quite distinguish flashed on her face- "well, Mother doesn't like Quidditch. Did your family like Quidditch? Or the muggle equivalent?"

Miss Lily's smile seemed pained, somehow. "I suppose they do like flying." Her look seemed more pointed, and Harry got the feeling they weren't talking about the same thing.

"You aren't sure?".

Something lurked beneath her eyes he couldn't quite place. "I'm not close with any of my family. I've only gotten in touch recently."

"Oh, well that's good." Harry nodded. "Family's important."

"It is, isn't it?" she said, softly. She blinked. "You were saying about Quidditch?"

"Oh, right! Would you like to go to my game? I mean, only if yo-"

"I'd love to go."

_-The Magnate-_

Lily found herself braving the chilly autumn morning winds of Cornwall on the elevated Millennium Stadium, which itself was a stone's throw away from the growing wizard district of Bodmin Moor. As expected of an amateur match, there weren't many people in the audience. Mostly, it was just parents of the players spread out among the more Quidditch-avid locals.

"Hullo there!"

The bench groaned in slight protest as a weight dropped beside her. Lily turned her head, a startling pair of grey eyes locking her in place. "The name's Joshua Bell," he said, a smile accompanying his extended hand.

"Lily," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Now comes the big question, Lions or Hippogriffs?" he began conversationally, the grin he wore never quite fading.

"Godric's Hollow Lions, of course." Lily gestured to the lion motif decorating the crimson Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck. It was convenient how well her old Hogwarts scarf matched the occasion perfectly.

Joshua withdrew an identical one from his robes. "Excellent. Then we can be friends." He nodded satisfactorily, as if judging her worthy. "Ah, a Hogwarts scarf? If you don't mind me asking, what class are you?"

Lily supposed this was a "nicer" way of asking for her age. "Hogwarts Class of '78. You?"

"Class of '73. Funny thing is I don't remember ever seeing you at school."

"There were plenty of students at school," she pointed out. "I don't think you'd remember everyone. Besides, you had your OWLs and NEWTs to worry about."

"True, but a lady as stunning as you? I'm sure it would have made a lasting impression on me." This elicited a perfectly raised brow from Lily, who struggled to keep her lips still.

A sudden cheer erupted from the stands, signaling that the players had taken to the field. Joshua, in sync with his Gryffindor raucousness, joined in, loud and unabashed. The match was a series of haphazard passes, off-target Bludgers and failed shots, but the atmosphere remained lively and light, punctuated with encouraging cheers when the rare shot went in.

Joshua tugged at her sleeves excitedly. "That's my daughter!" he shouted over the crowd's roar of approval, pointing to the feminine figure that had just gotten the red, football-sized Quaffle past the Keeper.

Lily watched her play, noting she had some talent after her second goal in the span of a few minutes. "She's very good. What's her name?"

"Katie!"

Lily nodded, before a thought occurred to her. She glanced around, before asking, "Where's her mother?"

A pained look passed through his eyes and the smile he wore faltered. "She, um, passed away, during the war."

"Oh." Lily replied, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks you, and it's really quite alright. It was...a long time ago." A moment of silence passed.

Strangely, she saw his ever-present grin threaten to break into a frown – a phenomenon she had thought impossible at this point. "Do you have anyone on the team?"

"Yeah!" She squinted, making out the familiar mop of black hair among the mass of flyers executing a fancy overhead pass. "That one! Harry Potter!"

"Your son?"

She hesitated. Harry's status as a bastard half-blood, while not a state secret, wasn't exactly something they liked to share with people. For one thing, there was a stigma on illegitimate children within the relatively small magical community. If there was one thing Lily knew as a muggleborn, it was that being discriminated by your peers didn't make for the most pleasant childhood.

On the other hand, she couldn't quite bear denying her own child. It felt too much like condemnation and betrayal. "I'm his tutor," she finally replied, deciding that the answer was a sufficiently ambiguous compromise.

His eyes seemed to gleam at that and his smile returned in full force. "Listen, a couple of the parents wanted to go grab a bite at Diagon afterwards. Do you want to come with?"

Naturally, she chose the option that would let her spend more time with her son, much to Joshua's delight.

The fact that the Lions lost (though it was a close game at 200-180) didn't deter them at all.

_-The Magnate-_

_**2 November 1990**_

James Potter decided he had not been in a situation this dangerous in quite a while. It was daunting to be alone with two angry, _armed_ witches who would not hesitate to do him bodily harm. The only saving grace he had was that they hated each other more than him…probably.

Maybe he should have rescheduled this meeting – more like Dueling session in his unbiased opinion.

"Evans." Melissa greeted, as cold as a Dementor's chill.

"Selwyn." Lily replied, tone clipped and measured.

The opening shots were exchanged in short bursts that left him with hope that all three would leave the room alive and generally unharmed…

"It's Potter now." sniped the smirking Selwyn.

…Never mind.

"Not really something to brag about," commented the redhead airily. James winced, stung by how nonchalantly she had just disregarded him.

The brunette's eyes narrowed into vicious slits. "Like you would know anything about that, whore!"

"Is that the best you can do, inbred? How's that son of yours?" She smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner. "Anything _odd _about him?"

Melissa scoffed, trying to pull off an air of indifference. It would have fooled them, had her trembling form not betrayed her. "At least he isn't a bas-"

"SHUT UP!" James exploded. "The both of you!" He shifted his glare towards Lily when he saw her smirk from the corner of his eye. "For Merlin's sake, can we please just talk about Harry's progress without any unpleasantness?" The two women glared at each other, but the insults had stopped at least.

"In the past month, Harry has shown progress in the three major fields – Charms, Transfiguration and Dueling. He has shown the most promise in Charms," Lily paused, no doubt to take delight in the disappointment James showed, before continuing, "being able to cast, with great proficiency, the Levitation, the Wand-Lighting and the Unlocking Charm. More importantly, he has begun to study in his own time the most basic principles of Charms and Spell theory."

"Does he understand it?" Melissa interjected.

Lily frowned. "Not yet." Melissa snorted and rolled her eyes. She might as well have poured oil on the fire known as Lily Evan's temper. "It's the fact that he's trying that's important!" she bristled. "Most children never start until-"

"Is that all? Three charms are all you've managed in the month we've given you?" Melissa made a show of sighing. "James dear, I told you this would be a waste. Why, I heard from my cousin that her daughter, the delightful little Hannah, managed a most excellent transfiguration last week."

"Let her finish with the report." The blue-eyed brunette harrumphed, crossing her arms. "His Transfiguration?" James asked, slightly hopeful.

"He's mastered the first exercise, matchstick into needle, but he needs more practice with changing the material and increasing the dimensions of his transfiguration. That said he is doing rather well. In Dueling, I haven't taught him too much, but he does have superb aim. He was able to hit moving targets with ease and we were going to work on his speed next."

James leaned into his chair with fingers steepled. "As his tutor, would you recommend, given his interest in Charms, that we arrange for an apprenticeship when he turns eleven?"

"What?" both women said in chorus, shocked faces perfectly identical.

_That's one way to get them on the same page_.

"Would you recommend we arrange for his apprenticeship over pursuing a formal education?" James rephrased in an even tone.

"What happened to Hogwarts?" Melissa demanded. "The Potter family have sent their children there for generations!"

James ignored his wife. "Lily, please answer the question."

"I, err, no." Lily shook her head to shake off, James suspected, the shock. "While Harry shows a greater interest in Charms, he hasn't expressed his decision to pursue a career in the field. Even if he had, I'd be against it. Objectively, it's a bad idea to restict his career flexibility at such a young age, when he's prone to changing his mind. You know how children can be."

"What happened to Hogwarts?" Melissa repeated, refusing to let up. Lily continued to stare at him.

"I've given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks and I just don't think Hogwarts is right for the kids." _Harry especially_.

The crease in Lily's forehead disappeared as realization dawned on her face. "This is about Snape, isn't it?"

"...Maybe."

"Definitely Snape then."

Melissa alternated her gaze between the two, still confused. "What's this about Headmaster Snape?"

"Have you met the man?" James asked.

"Once or twice," she said, "he's a very…intense individual."

James snorted. "That's understating it. The man can hold a grudge. Bloody prick."

"Like you're one to talk, Potter," Lily said.

"Hey, I grew up!" Her stare of utter disbelief forced him to amend his statement. "Sort of."

"You were in the same batch as him?" Melissa asked. "And I'm guessing you didn't part on good terms?"

"We were never on good terms," corrected James.

"So now you're afraid he'd let his enmity affect his treatment of the children if we sent them to Hogwarts," Melissa said.

"I wouldn't put it past him."

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Do you agree with this?" she asked Lily in a semi-civil tone.

Slowly, she nodded. "He's not one to let go of the past so easily." She turned to James. "If Hogwarts and apprenticeships are out, how about-"

"International schooling," Melissa interjected smoothly. "Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are fine second choices."

"Durmstrang it is," said James.

"Why not Beauxbatons?" Lily's brows furrowed deep.

James scoffed, giving her a look that shouted "Are you serious?"

"They require children to start at the age of ten, at least. Something about mandatory etiquette classes. I don't need them to teach my children how to behave," Melissa said.

"And they're French," James added dryly. "Do I need another reason?"

_-The Magnate-_

_**21 December 1990**_

"_Buongiorno_ Harry, Daph," The Italian boy nodded to each in turn, before taking a look around. "or I suppose it should be Buon Natale now."

"_Buon Natale_?" mouthed Harry to Daphne, not all too clear on the term. She shrugged, either because she didn't know or didn't care to know; possibly both.

Blaise must have noticed their wordless conversation, because he rolled his eyes. "It means Merry Christmas."

"Right," said Daphne. "Why do you even bother with Italian?"

He frowned at her. "It's important to be in touch with your heritage."

Harry and Daphne shared a look.

"What? It's true!"

"We've heard you say like four things in Italian." Daphne pointed out, bringing a hand up to count off. "_Buongiorno, ciao, grazie_ and _boon natalie_."

"_Boon natalie?_" Blaise repeated incredulously. "It's _buon natale_, you dolt! 'sides, every time I add a word you guys do this all over again."

Daphne fluttered her lashes innocently. "Do what, Blaise?"

He glared. "You know what."

"I really don't," she insisted, brushing a lock of gold behind her ear.

"Yes you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Harry, happy to watch them go at it, leaned into his chair when he noticed a certain someone standing beside him. "Hey Harry." Lavender said softly, twirling a loose strand of hair that reached just below her shoulder.

"Hi Lav!" Harry stood to give her a small hug. "Merry Christmas!" When they parted, there was a bit of red on her cheeks.

"How long have they been at it?" she asked, nodding towards their two friends, who somehow had managed to throw in a "Hey Lav!" in the middle of their fight.

"They just started, so this could take a while. How've you been?"

Lavender gave him a small smile. "Got my wand yesterday!"

"That's great! Told you you had nothing to worry about," Harry said. "Have you tried anything with it?"

"Does shooting colored sparkles at someone count?"

"Well," Harry stroked his chin, "it is Christmas after all. I suppose I could consider it." She slapped him playfully on the arm, before turning to watch the show.

"-don't want your gift then?"

"Now Blaise," the shift in Daphne's tone between critical and charming was instantaneous, "you know you're my best friend, right?"

"I thought that was Lav," Blaise said.

The blonde waved her away. "You're my best _guy _friend. Completely different."

"What am I supposed to be then?" Harry deadpanned.

"The other friend." Daphne laughed when he crossed his arms, indignant, before she turned to Blaise again. "Gift. Now."

He rummaged through his pack for a couple of rectangular packets and handed both Lavender and Harry one each. Then, he looked through it again, before carefully lifting out a hexagonal thing, carefully wrapped in green foil.

Lavender eyed the gift in her hands. "What do you think it is?" she whispered to Harry.

"Too small to be a magazine." He weighed it in his hands experimentally. "Something light. Honeydukes chocolate? And since Daphne got the odd-shaped one he picked out specifically, I'd say hers is special. Maybe the new mint flavored one."

"Why do you think Daphne got Honeydukes like us? It could be something else."

"Because Blaise always gives us different kinds of the same thing for Christmas. It's his thing." He reached for the knapsack hanging behind his chair and pulled out a palm-sized purse mirror. "Sorry it isn't wrapped. I couldn't figure out how to do circles."

"It's fine, Harry." She examined the sleek, silver exterior curiously. "What is it?"

"Miss Lily, my tutor, said it was a vanity mirror." He shrugged, having no idea what that meant. "I guess it's charmed to give you advice or something?"

"That's probably it," she said.

Harry handed out the rest of his gifts (Daphne got a nice, leather-bound diary with her initials embossed in front and he gave Blaise a Travel Guide) and received his in turn (the two latest editions of Quidditch Weekly, which suggested the girls had talked it over). After all this was done, they still had half an hour until Mrs. Bridgemoot, their supervisor, would return with the floo powder.

Blaise ended up being the one to instill some excitement into the room. "How about some magic?"

"We're not supposed to," Lavender said, biting her lip.

Harry's head bobbed in agreement. "Lav's right. We could get in trouble."

"What's life without a little risk?" asked Blaise. "You in, Daph?"

Daphne was already drawing her wand. "You are _so _going down."

"In your dreams, Greengrass." Blaise turned to Harry, peering at him. "Harry? Come on, what's a little friendly competition? It's not as if we're going to be dueling."

"Fine," he gave in, "but if we get in trouble, I'm blaming you."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Lav, you can judge. Agreed?" Daphne and Harry nodded. "Right, Ladies first."

"Watch and learn boys." Daphne placed a quill on the table they had circled around and drew her wand in an exaggerated fashion, before drawing an invisible pattern on the desk that Harry strongly doubted was an actual spell-casting movement. "_Motus exemplar_!"

Some unseen force dragged the unfortunate writing device across the surface by its tip, the faint lines sketching a rough, star-like shape. It repeated this twice before the quill keeled over, flopping around like a fish out-of-water.

"Is that all?" Blaise sighed in an exaggerated fashion. "I thought you said you were practicing."

Daphne glared at him, jaw clamped tightly as Blaise stepped forward. A minute passed in silence without any change visible.

"Sometime today would be great," Daphne said.

Blaise's eyes narrowed, but his singular focus remained on the quill. His hand was in motion before she could get another jibe in and it ended in a sharp jab that transformed the feather and tip into the model of an eagle with a steel beak.

"And that," Blaise said, "is how you do it."

Harry looked over the figure critically, paying particular attention to the wings. "Give the feathers a bit more spruce next time."

Confidence morphed into confusion. "What?"

Harry's reply came in two parts: the first a light tap that caused the forelimbs to stretch and spread; the second was an elegant twirl that ended in a flick. Splashes of color washed over the figure in waves, giving it a picturesque quality. The final product was an eagle in midflight that could be mistaken for a live one, if it wasn't for its stillness.

Harry tentatively picked it up, presenting it to Lavender as if it was a crown jewel. "If I'm being fair," she began, "Blaise's transfiguration tops both of yours."

"Zabini reigns supreme!" Blaise shouted, both hands up in a "V", as he addressed an invisible crowd.

"It's hardly fair," Daphne grumbled to Harry. "He had three months on me, and nearly a year on you."

"Could you imagine if he actually lost," Harry said, grinning at the mental image of Blaise sulking.

Blaise didn't let their remarks ruin his mood.

_-The Magnate-_

_**18 February 1991 **_

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Come in!" Harry called out, though he didn't look up from his book. He heard the door swing open and the sound of shuffling feet. "Yes, Rob?"

"How did you know it was me?"

Harry offered a small smile. "Mother calls before coming in, and Dad doesn't knock."

"Huh, I never noticed before." Robert said, scratching his head. "Watcha readin'?"

"_Perfecting Your Spell _by Heifer."

He could see Robert frown from the corner of his eye. "Heifer? That's it?"

"It's a pen name."

"Oh…is it any good." Harry hummed in response. "So how do you perfect it? Your spell, I mean?"

Harry marked the page he was on, deciding that it was a good time for a break. He set down the book on his study desk, next to an Abraxan stuffed toy that had been with him since he could crawl. "Well, there are a lot of things that affect it. You've got the spell-specific factors, like how the wand motion, the incantation and how well you understand the magic behind it."

"Makes sense."

"Then you've got the general factors that affect all spells, not just a specific one," continued Harry. "They split this one between Understanding of Magic-"

"Wait, hold up." Robert's brows furrowed. "You just said that understanding magic was a spell-specific thing."

Harry stood up to stretch his cramped muscles. "No, no, the first one is about the understanding the magic behind the spell itself. _This _is about how well you understand magic in general."

"I don't get it."

Harry sighed, trying to come up with an example. "It's like…Quidditch, I guess?"

"Okay?"

"Specific understanding is like knowing when to pass and when to shoot. General understanding would be understanding the roles of Chasers and Seekers and how each is important to winning."

"You mean like when the Cap'n starts talking about position aims?"

"Exactly like that," Harry said. "Next is mindset. It's here that smartness, willpower, creativity and similar things come into play. The book basically lists all these things and explains the differences, as well as the importance of each."

"Sounds boring."

Harry snorted. "Tell me about it. But I promised Ms. Lily I'd give her back the book soon."

"Oh." Rob sounded disappointed. "Do you...do you like Ms. Lily?"

"Yeah, she's really nice!" Harry said with a grin. "And she's smart. You'd like her. Want to meet her on Tuesday?"

"D'you think that'd be alright?"

"I don't see why it wouldn't." Harry scratched his head. "Any reason you're so curious today?"

Rob suddenly found the floor quite remarkable. "I just wanted to spend some time with you. You've been so busy lately."

"No I haven't." Harry said on impulse. Then again, he had requested more weekly session after the New Year. It wasn't uncommon for him to have three to four of them nowadays. Between the Youth Center and his readings, the only time Harry had spent time with his brother was during meals and Quidditch practice – a big difference from the previous year.

"I won't even get to see you next year when you're at school." Rob despaired.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly, "I guess I just got caught up in all the work. How about we go play some Quidditch right now?" He was mostly done with the book and it _was _a Sunday.

"Oh, oh! Teach me how to do the reverse pass!"

_-The Magnate-_

Before Lily knew it, it was Tuesday already and she walked into the study, not expecting to find two boys instead of one.

"Morning Miss Lily!" Harry greeted cheerily.

Lily raised a brow at him. "You're here early."

"I wanted you to meet my brother, Robert." A small wave accompanied Robert's shy smile.

"Oh. Um, hello Robert." She cleared her throat, suppressing the flare of anger she felt towards _that woman_. "Would you, er, like to stay for today's lesson? You might find it interesting. Your brother's starting on basic animations."

He glanced at Harry for approval before answering. "If…if that's ok?"

"As long as you don't disturb Harry's work, I can allow it." Lily turned to Harry. "I need to tell you something by the way. Your dad was supposed to do it, but he had to go to Switzerland for a Transfiguration Summit."

James Potter was a well-renowned expert in human transfiguration and he had to make trips like this at least twice a year from what she had gathered.

"What about?"

"After talking things through, your dad and I think it's best if you go to Durmstrang." She waited for the outburst.

And waited…"You're not surprised." she said, surprised.

Harry tilted his head. "I kinda knew already. Uncle Sirius has been rambling about how great Durmstrang was and the differences between the three schools all of last month."

"The last time he went on like that, we were going to get sent to the Centers for the first time," Robert added.

"And you don't really care you're not going to Hogwarts?" Lily asked.

Harry shook his head slowly. "Hogwarts sounds great, but Uncle Sirius made Durmstrang sound pretty awesome too."

"They speak German there." Lily stated.

"There's a spell to help with that."

"How did you know?"

Harry and Robert shared a look. "Mrs. Bridgemoot," they chimed together.

"Your supervisor from the center?" she asked, vaguely remembering him mention it in passing. "Do you just ask her everything?"

"Pretty much." Robert said.

"She tells us everything we want to know," Harry added.

_-The Magnate-_

_**2 April 1991 **_

"This is bloody outrageous!" Lily swore uncharacteristically, drawing curious looks from her companion. "Necessary education indeed!" She threw down her innocent copy of the Daily Prophet onto the table with excessive force.

Alice Longbottom snuck a peek at the offending newspaper, searching for some hint as to the source of her friend's outburst. "Ministry to impose Necessary Education Act." she murmured to herself. "Children gifted with magic are henceforth required to undergo proper training to hone their abilities."

She frowned at the paper, sliding it closer to get a better angle. "I don't see anything particularly wrong with it."

"What happens to muggleborn kids who don't want to join the magical world?" Lily asked, an ugly scowl marring her normally fine features.

"Who in their right mind would refuse magic?" The very suggestion was preposterous! Especially to someone from the magical world. "And I suppose they'd be made to attend anyways. I mean, they won't be able to counter compulsions without training."

"So how do you stop them from running away in case the compulsion fails or when they manage to break it over the summer?"

"Oh!" Her eyes turned grew into saucers as the implication hit her. "They…they wouldn't dare use the Imperius on children, right?" asked Alice. Lily knew her friend well enough to know that the argument sounded weak even to her.

"It's either that, memory charms to make them forget about their parents so they'd have no one to run to, or placing tracers and hunting down runaways." Alice looked ill suddenly.

"It's 1982 all over again."

Alice remained deathly quiet.

"They trapped us." Lily gritted her teeth. "The Ministry, the Death Eaters, the 66 Signatories, and those thrice damned _Protocols_ of theirs."

"This world will be a prison for them." she declared with finality, grim and ominous.

_-The Magnate-_

_**12 June 1991**_

"What's it like, living in the Muggle World?" was a question Lily Evans had never heard in her thirty years of living. She never considered anyone would be interested. It never even crept into her head when she was thinking of hypothetical life scenarios.

So when Harry James Potter asked, she was taken aback.

"It's very different from that magical one. Children there start going to school when they're five."

"Five?" Disbelief colored his tone.

"Yup. And all the chores around the house have to be done by hand too. My parents always made my sister and I do them."

He made a face. "That sounds terrible."

"Well, it did have its perks."

"You mean like watching the tully!"

"The telly," she corrected. "I guess your Uncle Sirius told you about that?"

"A little bit. He called it a magic mirror that was charmed to show you things from around the world and some people would dress up and do plays in them. Oh, he also said muggles had a magic called electicity."

Lily briefly pondered whether she should engage in a discussion about electricity, but decided she wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions today.

"It sounds really cool." There was a pause. "Do you think you could show me the muggle world one day?"

Lily considered it. "Ask your dad on your birthday."

One's eleventh birthday, as it turned out, was a very big deal in their society. It was a loud, crowded affair and Harry had never been more thankful towards the inventor of the Interior Expansion Charm. Close to a hundred people had invaded their home, most of whom Harry had never met, yet they all seemed to know who he was.

"I don't think I've ever seen this many people in one place. Outside of Diagon Alley that is," Harry said to Sirius, who was eyeing his purple-hued drink distastefully.

"This is nothing. You should see some of the sweet seventeens." Sirius took a sip, and immediately grimaced at the taste. Harry laughed at his expense. "I hate grapes. Your seventeenth party is going to be like this, but with more people your age and booze." It took him a moment to realize just how old Harry was. "Uh, don't tell your parents I said that."

"Sure, what about Miss Lily?"

Harry wasn't sure why, but his Uncle turned even whiter than his already pasty complexion. "Especially Evans, I mean, Miss Lily."

"Did you know her from before?" Harry asked. "You sound like you do."

"Yeah, same House same year at Hogwarts," SIrius said.

"So she knew Dad as well?"

Sirius grinned. "Oh most definitely. Lily and James were close once." His eyes became distant and unfocused.

_They were friends then? That's odd, they don't act like it anymore. I wonder what drove them apart?_

Sirius' heavy sigh interrupted his thoughts. "Too bad Moony couldn't make it."

"Moony? That's a funny name." Harry tried to spot some familiar faces in the crowd, to little avail. "Is he one of your friends from work?"

"Moony was your Uncle Remus' nickname when we were still in Hogwarts."

Harry accepted the answer without prying further. He had long come to terms with the fact that his dad and his friends were weird when it came to nicknames. "He went away to teach, right?"

"In Bulgaria," Sirius answered. "Which reminds me, he wanted me to tell you that his gift would be arriving in the mail later today. The courier owls over there aren't quite up to British standards."

They continued to watch people from their corner of the room. Occasionally, a few strangers would come up to greet him a happy birthday. Very occasionally, they'd hand him a present.

"Harry!" two girly voices he was well-acquainted with squealed. Lavender was the first to envelope him in a lung-crushing hug. Daphne's, thankfully, posed less of a threat to his internal organs. At this point, his beloved uncle had left him to go chat up a fair looking witch on the other side of the room.

They were followed by a "_Salve, _Harry" spoken in soft baritone.

"A new word, Blaise?"

"Well, _someone _gave me a 'Dummy's Guide to Italian' for my birthday." He shot Daphne – who looked completely unrepentant - a pointed look. "I'd rather my grasp on _Italiano _not be questioned again."

"Can't believe you're finally eleven, Harry." Lavender said.

"It's about time too. 'lil Harry's all grown up." Daphne wiped a crocodile tear from her eye.

A matching grin passed between them. "Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?" Daphne started.

"One more time then," Harry said.

"I guess I should give you guys another chance to top me. Not that you will, of course." Blaise smirked. He was in the lead over both of them by a half-point after he tied with Harry the last time.

"Prepare to be toppled." Daphne was already on her way to Harry's room.

"Wait, hold up," Harry said. "Who's going to judge?"

"How about your brother?" Lavender suggested.

Soon, the four of them – plus Robert to judge – were gathered around Harry's study table. They placed a match in the middle then Robert gestured for Lavender to start. Her choice was to transfigure it into a simple, not-quite-living bonsai tree.

"Does that count as semi-animate transfiguration?" Harry asked, peering at it. "I don't think it's alive."

"Dead tree isn't quite the same thing as _a_ tree," Daphne answered. "Doesn't count."

Daphne's work was executed with a sharp, twisting move that killed any hope for the tree being alive. Her charm began to take effect from the roots, and they watched, entranced, as veins of biting hoarfrost crept along the entirety of the tree, bathing it in crystalline glory.

"Got a few cracks in your ice sculpture, Daph," Blaise teased.

She glared. "Go on then. Let's see you top my freezing charm."

"_Piacere mio_!" Harry guessed it meant something along the lines of "my pleasure". It did manage to make the blonde's glare all the more intense. "Blink and you'll miss it," he warned, his wand already beginning a slow, upward arc. Without warning, he swiped down, akin to a commander beckoning his army forward with a saber.

"_Incendio_!" Azure tongues lashed out from the wooden tip, just as it reached the top of the frozen plant. The heat was concentrated enough to both melt and vaporize ice and trunk, leaving nothing but dancing fire for a few precious seconds.

Harry, recognizing his window of opportunity slipping, acted immediately by catching the fire with his own wand to ensure it wouldn't die. Most of the base material had burned already, leaving him little to work with. Transfiguration of plasma into a solid or liquid was also out of the question. Such a feat would be closer to conjuration than transfiguration, and he was far from capable of that either.

The answer, as always, turned out to be in Charms. Hours of study and dedicated practice paid off as he placed the dying flames within the most basic stasis charm to buy him more time and temporarily free his wand for the next part of his task.

"_Vita locomotor_!" he jabbed the fire swiftly; once, twice - the strain on his mind increased with each attempt. Third time's the charm, as the saying goes, and Harry felt assured he had gotten it right with his final stab.

Animating an already animate object was several degrees more challenging than animating inanimate things. Fire, having a lifelike quality, but no impulses, fell in between the two.

It morphed first into a cocoon of harsh, flickering maroon, before changing its form into that of a phoenix with wings wide and free. The fiery construct hovered aimlessly, seeming to enjoy the attention from its captive audience. The rhythmic up and down of limbs left afterimages, coating the air in red.

The phoenix nosedived abruptly, pulling up at the last second before it hit the table. The imitation of the Wronski-Feint made Robert clap approvingly. The lap it did around the table before fading away seemed more of a victory lap and less an effort for last-minute points. Harry flicked away the beads of sweat streaming down his nape.

Lavender had to pick up her jaw. "That...that was amazing!"

Blaise patted his back. "You're going to show those upstart mudbloods their place when you get to Hogwarts."

"Um, yeah. About that." Harry scratched the back of his head. "I'm not going to Hogwarts." Lavender's smile did a complete one-eighty.

"It was my parents' choice," he said weakly, edging backwards.

"Beauxbatons or Durmstrang?" Blaise asked. He seemed unperturbed by the situation. Happy, even.

"Durmstrang."

"Yes!"

Daphne spun towards him so quickly her neck nearly snapped. "Wait, you too?"

His glee died a painful death, murdered by Daphne Greengrass's glare.

"How long have you two kept this from us?" Lavender's face promised painful retribution if their reply was not to her liking.

"…"

"Unbelievable!"

_-The Magnate-_

"_On this thirtieth of August, of the year Nineteen Eighty Two, I, James Charlus Potter, Head of House Potter, do hereby agree to uphold, to the best of my abilities, the points set forth below:_

_To promote and propagate the ideals of Blood Purity_

_To swear allegiance to the Society and the ideals it rests on_

_To support the Regime's actions, whatever they may be_

_To protect the sovereignty of the Society and its members, in part and in whole, during times of both peace and war_

_To maintain the hierarchy of our most glorious Society_

_To produce an Heir befitting of my line, in both blood and magic_

_To do my duty as a member of the Society and as a practitioner of my craft_

_On my House and Line, I do so swear."_

_-Purity Protection Protocols, Pledge of the Signatories, 1982_


	3. A Visit to Vienna

**Chapter 3: A Visit to Vienna**

"_6 November 1981_

_Magicals, I have observed, have a logic of their own that is in some ways similar to our own, yet vastly different in others. At first glance, it seems they despise Mathematics and the Sciences; for that, they have been called inept and incompetent by the muggle-raised._

_This is untrue._

_It is simply that when most muggles talk about Science, they refer to Technology or Physics instead, which has little use to magicals. Muggle technology is inferior by several degrees to what the average wizard is capable of, and this gap is only widening with each year. Physics, while useful in understanding the world and the rules that govern it, is useless too in the comprehension of magic - an art which by its very definition is to make the impossible possible; to ignore the rules of the universe. The manipulation of numbers offers a little more with its applications in Arithmancy and Numerology, but can hardly be considered as the be-all, end-all answer." _

-Lily Evans (1992)

_**31 July 1991**_

"_Unbelievable!"_

Lavender was _shaking_. Harry averted his eyes, desperate to escape her melting stare. Robert's back was pressed against the door, torn between curiosity and fear. He looked ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Why?" Daphne asked, addressing more Blaise than Harry.

"Mum thinks it's time to 'broaden my horizons'." Blaise said. "She's tired of British men, I guess." It wasn't a secret that his mother was a gold digger. "And in my defense, I only found out last week. There wasn't really a good time to share the news."

"Ok." The fact that her frown did not let up at all indicated she felt anything but. She turned to Harry next, offering him a brow that practically shouted "And you?"

"Apparently, my dad and the Headmaster of Hogwarts aren't on good terms."

It would have been more dramatic to say her frown deepened, but at this point, it was impossible to fall any further. "That's a stupid reason."

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Lavender's voice came out strained and harsh, a mix of betrayal and pain lingering beneath.

Harry felt his throat constrict. A bit more and it would choke him. Great, even his own body was trying to off him now. "Well I, uh…" He swallowed thickly. "Honestly, I...I was afraid you guys wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't what?" Daphne asked, clamping down on his answer as an alligator would around its prey.

"Wouldn't want to…to be friends anymore."

The stinging on his skin disappeared along with the harshness of Lavender's stare. "Why on earth would you think that?" she said. Harry felt silly all of a sudden. "We've been friends for ages! Going to different schools isn't going to change that."

"That's right." Daphne said. "Besides, we'll still see each other loads of times! Like, on summer break, and Easter and Christmas." She must have caught on to the worried look the boys shared, because she followed up with, "What are you two hiding?"

"You tell her," Blaise seemed to say with his eyes.

Harry made a gesture that was supposed to mean "No you", but Blaise didn't appear to understand. He was never really any good at charades.

"One of you tell me. Right now." Daphne said, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Blaise cracked first. "Well, the school schedules don't exactly match up, but the difference isn't that big, honest!"

"How bad?" Daphne asked.

"Our year starts off a week later, and summer break starts on the fifteenth."

"The fifteenth? Of June?" Lavender asked.

"August," said Blaise.

Lavender didn't look happy about that. "Your summer break lasts less than a month? That sounds terrible!"

Daphne clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "Your parents are sadists."

_-The Magnate-_

"You see awfully chipper. Good day?" asked Joshua.

Lily positively hummed in response. "It was Harry's birthday party today." She brought the ladle to her lips, letting a bit of soup in. It needed the dash of salt she put in. She looked at the saltshaker contemplatively then gave it another shake for good measure.

"How was it?"

"Great, Harry asked James if he could visit the muggle world. The look on Melissa's face was priceless!"

"I can imagine," Joshua said, the smile he wore evident from his voice alone. "Did he say yes?"

Lily walked into the dining room, a trail of plates and utensils floating behind her obediently. "Not as if he could say no on Harry's birthday of all days."

"True." He uncorked a bottle of alcohol, pouring in a hefty amount of the light, pink liquid into a pair of flute glasses. "When's he going?" The only reason he was concerned, Lily knew, was because she promised to go with Harry to explain the muggle world.

"This August. They're planning a trip to Austria for a month, and I'm supposed to join them during their last week. I'm guessing sometime then."

"Austria?" Joshua was surprised. The country, a former member of Grindelwald's _Reich-Staaten,_ wasn't exactly a popular destination for the British. "Why Austria?"

Lily directed the last pot onto the table. "They wanted to give Harry a bit of time to practice his German before school starts."

"Then why not Germany?" asked Joshua, which earned him a quirked brow. "Nevermind, stupid question." The only country less popular than Austria would've been Germany, given they were the first to join Grindelwald's crusade.

Joshua handed her a glass and she took a sip of the drink. "Mmm, what are we celebrating?" Lily asked.

"What makes you think that?"

"The rose champagne." She swirled the liquid before taking another sip. "You never bother with anything this fancy unless something is up."

"Two weeks with my gorgeous girlfriend isn't reason enough?" His suggestive smile triggered a brief memory where he had casually mentioned Katie was spending the next couple of days at a friend's house.

Lily snorted. "Eat your food."

Joshua smiled cheekily. "Yes Ma'am."

_-The Magnate-_

_**1 August 1991**_

It was a normal, quiet morning at the Potter residence.

"Harry! Robert!" Of course, quiet and normal were relative terms. Melissa's voice was shrill and piercing, killing any possibility of sleep. "Better finish up soon! The Portkey leaves in an hour!"

"Like this isn't the hundredth time you've reminded us." Harry said grumpily to himself. She was, thankfully, out of earshot. Finally certain he wasn't missing anything - having combed through the things on his bed twice now – he flourished his wand in the general direction of his bed. "_Pack._" he commanded. Like soldiers, each item floated up, forming a neat line before proceeding to deposit themselves neatly into his expandable rucksack.

Ms. Lily's gift of _Versatile Variations _was the last thing to enter the already stuffed bag when he heard Melissa from the doorway. "Harry, good, at least you're done." she was exasperated and very much stressed. "Be a dear and help Robert out? I swear that father of yours is worse than a child with the way he puts off things!" Her voice already sounded far away, no doubt to fuss over some other detail.

Harry tested the weight of his pack with his hand then slung the straps across his shoulders. Thankfully, it wasn't too heavy, even if there was no Featherweight Charm placed on it.

He found Robert in his room. The sight was not pretty.

"Harry!" exclaimed Robert, perhaps a little too happily, "Err, help? Please?" He had this sheepish expression on his face as he scratched the back of his head.

"What happened here? It looks like your closet threw up." It wasn't a hyperbole either. All manners of robes, undershirts, cloaks, footwear and headwear lay strewn across the floor, whereas the cabinet which should have been containing them was empty. "Twice," Harry said, as he kicked at a scarf near his foot.

Robert blushed and ducked his head. "I couldn't decide what to bring…so I tried to fit everything in my bag."

Harry stared at him. "Well course it wouldn't fit. You're not supposed to bring everything."

"Why not? Mum's bag can fit loads of things!"

"Mum's bag is charmed to be limitless," Harry pointed out. "Yours isn't."

Robert frowned at him. "Well, we'll be gone. For thirty days." he said meaningfully.

Harry sighed. "Just bring a few pairs and cycle through them. We can get 'em cleaned there."

"Are you sure?"

"Worse comes to worst, mother will just buy you new clothes. Now, pick out a few sets. Five's enough, seven's better."

Harry glanced at the wall clock hanging over his brother's bed, noting that they had forty minutes left. Their mother's words were becoming more frantic and panicked as the short hand drew closer to 8. "Not that one." Harry said offhandedly when Robert considered a gaudy robe patterned with golden lions.

"What 'cha think it'll be like? Austria, I mean." Robert set aside the clothes he had decided on in a not so neat pile.

"Small, I imagine; a lot less crowded too. Uncle Sirius said they only had 6,000 people."

"Only 6,000?" repeated Robert skeptically. "Oh, here. All done!"

Harry glanced disapprovingly as his brother grabbed the mish-mashed pile and tried to dump it into his backpack. "You'll never get it in like that." Normally, he would let his brother work this out himself, but they were short on time today. "Pack." he said, watching magic expedite the process. "That should do it. C'mon."

They made their way down the stairs to see their dad effortlessly balancing a trunk on his head, their mother rolling her eyes at him. "There you two are." She gestured for them to grab onto a length of rope. "James, don't forget to lock down the house."

Harry watched intently while his dad began waving his wand in a series of wide sweeping motions, all the while chanting something under his breath.

Satisfied with his work, James nodded to himself before wrapping one end of the portkey around his hand. "3, 2, 1."

The world melted away.

Or at the very least, that's what it seemed like. In actuality, the high velocity rotation left their sight blurry.

Harry heard the change in scenery before he saw it, really. The howling of wind was replaced by distinct (if incomprehensible), guttural sounds. It was German, Harry realized, yet it wasn't as harsh as he'd been led to believe. In fact, the intonation was almost musical even.

Harry blinked a couple of times, refocusing his eyes.

Humble - that was the nicest way to describe the Austrian Ministry. It had none of the marble columns or the grandiose statues that were the prominent features of its British counterpart. Instead, in the atrium below them, was a solitary stone tablet. If you squinted, you could make out an extremely long word in simple print - "_Vergangenheitsbewältigung"_.

"_Willkommen_ in _Ö__sterreich_!" a voice greeted warmly.

Harry shifted his attention to a mustached, official-looking fellow who was eyeing them appraisingly. "English, yes?" the official asked.

"Yes," James replied, nodding emphatically. "James Potter."

"Ah! _Herr_ Potter. We've been expecting you. This way please." There was a slight accent to his English, but it was otherwise easily understandable. He led them to his desk, one of two that dealt with international Portkey arrivals. From the looks of things, they didn't get much traffic as the other official on duty, a bored twenty-something year old, scurried over eagerly.

The two engaged in a conversation of rapid German that even James, who knew the most German in the family, looked utterly lost. The first official noticed and waved away his associate. Clearing his throat, he shot them an apologetic smile. "Sorry for that, Tomas is new to the job and you're the first tourists he's seen."

"No problem," James said.

"So, Herr Potter, how long is your family staying in _Ö__sterreich_?"

"Until the 22nd, three weeks." The official, Bruno according to his nametag, jotted down that information.

"Purpose of visit?"

"Vacation and maybe a bit of shopping. My son's going to Durmstrang this September," he said, his chest puffing up.

Bruno smiled knowingly. "Ah, my nephew just graduated last year! I would recommend getting winter coats with at least grade three warming charms. The weather can be brutal." He glanced down. "Everything seems to be in order…I just need to check your wands."

"Thanks! We'll look into that," James said as he handed over his. Harry and Melissa's followed.

"Do you have anywhere to stay?" James made a negative gesture. "No matter, though I would recommend looking for a place at _der Geheime Platz_, our main shopping district." Bruno returned the wands after a customary check. "Alright, Herr Potter. I just need your Portkey and you can be on your way. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Uh, just one thing." James handed over the string of rope. "We were told we could get someone to cast the Language Charm?"

"Ah, you want the AIMZ. Take the elevator, which should be down this hallway. Fourth floor, second door on the right."

James smiled. "_Danke_." he said, leading them away.

"Enjoy your stay in _Ö__sterreich_!" Bruno called out, just before the lift shut close.

The _Abteilung für Internationale Magische Zusammenarbeit _– the Department of International Magical Cooperation in English – was a step up from the Office of International Arrivals in terms of décor and size.

"Wicked!" the boys chorused, seeing the slowly rotating, multi-colored globe that was the rotunda's centerpiece.

Harry, grinning, nudged the wide-eyed Robert in the side. "Check that out."

Robert looked down to see a painted siren, gracefully circling around their feet. His eyes, if even possible, grew more. It appeared to giggle - though no sound reached their ears – before joining her sisters on the domed ceiling.

"Boys, keep up!" James was already a few meters ahead, holding open a door. The door, it turned out, was the office of an ancient, gnarly witch with graying tresses. She and James exchanged a few words, before she signaled Harry to come closer with her wrinkled hand.

"Level 2," she said, voice completely flat, "costs 51 Florints and 4 Thalers."

While James was busy counting out the golden, octagonal Florints and the silver Thalers, the witch, who smelled faintly of incense, muttered under her breath and circled her wand over Harry's head. The charm ended with a painful jab to his forehead. Harry recoiled on instinct, eyes blinking rapidly. He shuffled backwards, head feeling like lead. James placed a worried hand on his back to keep him from falling over.

"You might feel strange for a few days. That's perfectly normal." the witch said, sounding unfazed by his reaction. "For best effect, try to talk in German as much as possible."

It took a few minutes for him to get his blinking under control, and he felt his dad's smooth palms on his own, guiding him forward. By the time he could see again, the world was different. He found himself listening into snippets of overhead conversation as they waited in line to use the floo, although he didn't understand most of what they said.

"Alright there, Harry?" James asked.

"Yes," Harry answered and his dad grinned.

Robert frowned at the two. His response of "What" sounded foreign to Harry's ears. It suddenly clicked why Dad was smiling like that. He had talked to him in German, and he understood without even realizing it.

"That does feel strange," said Harry, making sure he was speaking in English.

"You get used to it." James stepped up when the couple in front was swallowed whole by the swirling green flames. "Hello. Four für Geheimnis Platz, bitte," he said to the person selling floo powder. It was a little disconcerting to get only half of what was being said.

"One Thaler und drei Staatenmark, sir."

James gave him a silver piece and three bronze squares with a hole through the middle in exchange for a handful of the fine powder. The Potter family made it to the place without incident.

From the moment Harry walked out of the fireplace, he could see how the Secret Plaza was different from Diagon Alley. Diagon, with shops on either side, was a cramped, narrow and winding street way on the best of days and simply a chaotic, unnavigable mass during the back-to-school shopping rush. Geheime, on the other hand, was a plaza characterized by its spacious quarters and the Austrian need for order.

Their obviously English appearance drew stares from some passersby. It made Harry self-conscious all of a sudden, as if he was being judged worthy of entrance.

"Well." James cleared his throat amidst the conspicuous glances. "How does lunch sound? I'm famished."

_-The Magnate-_

_**19 August 1991**_

"I'm going to miss you." Joshua's breathy words were ticklish to her neck.

Lily rolled her eyes, but could not stop the faint smile from showing. It felt nice to be wanted for a change. "It's just four days."

"Mmm." He continued to nuzzle her hair. "Four days too long." Joshua kept fistful of her robes in a possessive grip. "Are you sure you can't just skip? We could be doing so much more _productive_ things at home."

"With Katie there? I'd rather not traumatize the girl, thank you very much."

"Silencing Charms were invented for a reason, luv."

Lily snorted. "Her dad locks himself in his bedroom with a lady. You might as well just hang a sock on the doorknob."

Joshua pulled apart slightly, frowning at her. "She shouldn't know what that means yet."

"Oh honestly Joshua, she's eleven! I knew what that meant when I was her age."

"You're making me worried for her innocence."

Lily pecked him on the cheek. "I'll bring you back a chastity belt." Joshua sulked and Lily laughed. "I'm just teasing."

"Ahem."

The two broke apart reluctantly to address the newcomer. "Peter?" Lily asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi Lily," the mousy man squeaked. "Err, got the Portkey for you."

"Oh! Thanks Peter. This is Joshua, my boyfriend."

Joshua extended a hand towards him, which Peter shook vigorously. "Nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Lily's?"

"Of a sorts." He fiddled with his fingers nervously. "We were the same year at Hogwarts."

"Right," Joshua said before he turned to Lily. "I'll go grab your bag from inside."

Once he was out of earshot, Peter spoke up, his voice noticeably deeper. "Boyfriend?"

Lily huffed. "Yes, Peter. Believe it or not, I'm quite capable of maintaining a healthy romantic relationship."

"Does James know?"

"I fail to see how my romantic partner is any of his business." her reply came out more sharply than she intended.

"He is the father of your child, you know."

"I'm well aware Peter." Lily said in a more measured tone. "I was the one who had to carry Harry around for nine months."

"Well, does Joshua know? About Harry, I mean?"

Lily crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You're being awfully nosy. Did James ask you to stalk me or something?"

"Hey!" Peter exclaimed, indignant. "Can't I express a little curiosity without being suspected of ulterior motives? Besides, I volunteered to deliver the Portkey 'cuz I had the day off and thought it would be nice to catch up with some old friends."

"And by old friend you thought of me?" She continued to eye him with suspicion.

"Among others."

Joshua chose then to return. "Have a fun trip, luv." he said, kissing her once more.

"I will." Lily strapped on her bag and grabbed the soon to be active Portkey. "See you in a few!"

Peter was already gone before she was whisked away.

_-The Magnate-_

Harry jumped over the last wooden step of the _Bärenhöhle'__s_ stairway with a boyish grin. "Good morning, Harry!" called out Jakob, the innkeeper. "Staying for breakfast?"

"You know I can't say no to your food, Jakob." Harry said in effortless German, the product of two and a half weeks immersed in the language.

Jakob chuckled heartily. "Sit down, sit down. I'll be right out with your food."

He chose a seat at the counter and swept the room with his eyes. Aside from an elderly looking Italian couple on the far side of the room, he was alone. "Slow day today," he said to Jakob when he returned with a plate.

"It's barely past seven. I'm surprised you're even awake right now."

"Why's that?" Harry picked at the roll of bread – _Semmel_, Jakob had called it.

"You wake up at eight, at the earliest. Something got you excited today?"

"Uh huh." Harry let out a delighted sigh while he chewed on some smoked bacon. "Ms. Lily's taking me to the muggle world today."

The innkeeper took a sip of his black coffee. "Ah, the famous Ms. Lily. She's your tutor, yes?" Harry made an affirmative sound. "August is a good month to visit Vienna. You are lucky there aren't many tourists this year."

"Any tips?"

"The palaces, Schönbrunn and Hofburg, are definite must sees. How do you feel about muggle art?" Harry made a face. "No? Well, I guess you can't go amiss sailing the Danube."

Two hours passed quickly with Jakob to keep him company. During the wait, Dad and Rob joined him, wanting to see him off for the day no doubt. As 9:30 approached, the trio headed over to _Habergeiss Tor_, the southernmost gateway that opened near the city center.

Ms. Lily, punctual as ever, was waiting for him already. "Your clothes, they're new." were her first words.

"They are." Harry agreed. He was wearing his recently purchased Durmstrang uniform.

She gave him the once over before answering. "Red is a good color on you," she said finally, "but you can't go to the muggle world dressed in that."

Harry looked himself over. His getup was decent, if he said so himself. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Muggles don't wear robes. You'd be an odd duck." Harry's heart sank. He'd been looking forward to this trip.

"Nothing a bit of transfiguration can't fix," James said.

"Maybe a glamour would work better?" suggested Lily. "The robes, they're new after all."

"Maybe that'd be best, Evans." Lily had the charm set in a jiffy. "Be sure to bring him back 'round eight tonight."

Lily nodded stiffly.

"Bye Harry!" Robert shouted as they neared the gateway which would transport them across the city.

"Have I ever told you why I chose a mastery in Charms?" Lily began all of a sudden.

"No," Harry said, curious to know why. "Why did you?"

"Magic is a truly wonderful thing to muggleborns. It's the sort of thing we only hear about in fairytales and bedtime stories. As we grow older, we figure it doesn't really exist. Could you imagine our shock when we find out its real? That there's a hidden world out there I can be a part of?"

"I'd be ecstatic," Harry said.

"I was too," Lily said. "The possibilities with magic are endless and Charms are the best way to actualize that. Technology was developed to address the wants of the muggles. They've been working on it before written history began, and they've still got a long way to go. With Charms though, there's a spell to answer every problem, if only we bothered to look."

They stepped into the shimmering gateway and found themselves in a whole new world entirely. Something shrieked nearby, a red metal box on four wheels. Their streets too, Harry noted, were odd. Instead of cobblestone, it was grey and grainy and rough.

"Those are cars," Lily said. "Muggles use them to travel around the city."

"Do they run on eleclicity too?" Harry asked, peering at it as it shook slightly.

"Electricity and no, they run on gasoline, an extract of oil," Lily said.

Harry frowned. "How does that work?"

"I'm not too sure how either, but from what I understand, the gasoline is burned up by a device called an 'engine'. The process releases energy which powers the car."

_Muggle magic then,_ Harry thought, nodding to himself.

"How fast do they go?"

"Two hundred kilometers per hour? Maybe?" Lily shrugged. "I've never been on one, to be honest."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "That's terribly slow. An old Cleansweep could match that."

The car sped off suddenly, Harry's gaze trailing after it until it reached another box, black with three smaller circles of light on it, the green brightest of all. "Colorful," he said, pointing before turning to Lily. "What does it do?"

"It's a stoplight, they tell the muggle car users whether to go, stop or slow down."

Harry made a face. "Why would they need to be told that?"

"To prevent accidents," Lily said. "Muggle healing isn't as good as ours."

"Really? How so?" Harry asked.

"It take quite a bit of time for them to recover, so they tend to be more risk-averse than wizards. We can grow bones overnight and make ourselves new organs - muggles can't. We can cure cuts and bruises and fractures with a flick of our wands; it takes them weeks to heal."

"I can't imagine living like that," Harry said. "Must be horrible!" She shrugged.

Buildings towered all around them; some, far off in the distance, even dominating the skyline. "Why do muggles have to build things so tall?" Harry asked, pointing to one of the taller buildings along the street.

"They need the space," Lily said.

Harry gave the building a meaningful glance. "What on earth would they need _that_ much space for?"

"Muggles don't have magic," Lily reminded him. "That means no Expansion Charms, no making places bigger or things smaller."

"That's incredibly inefficient." He stopped before this oddly-shaped black _thing_ sticking out of the paved sidewalk. "Oh this is lovely. Is it some sort of art?"

Lily giggled. "That's a fire hydrant. It's to help muggles put out fires."

"Don't they use electricity for everything nowadays?"

"Despite that, fire is still a major hazard," Lily said.

Harry shook his head. "I really don't see how it could be a problem. They don't even have to deal with magical fire."

"There are all sorts of fires aside from magical ones. Electrical, chemical, metal-" Lily's fingers shot out one by one as she listed them, "-each needs to be dealt with differently. Electrical fires for example, can't be extinguished with water."

"How come?"

"Water is a conductor of electricity," Lily said. "Sort of like how wands are a conductor of magic. It makes it flow easier."

"Okay."

"So when they use water, they run the risk of getting electrocuted. It's like being struck by lightning, or so I'm told."

"Well, it can't be that bad then. Anyway-" Harry clapped his hands together, "-what do muggles do for fun? Flying, I hope?"

"Only the rich ones," Lily said. "They do what wizards do. Reading, sports-"

"Like Quidditch?"

"Nothing quite like Quidditch, but we have a few similar to it. Football, for example, involves two teams kicking a ball around a grassy field."

"That sounds nothing like Quidditch," Harry said. "No brooms, for one thing. Speaking of which, how do muggles fly?"

"Using planes."

Harry frowned. "How does a flat piece of land let them fly?"

"Not plains." Lily looked up, as if searching for something. "There, see that blip in the sky?" Harry's gaze followed her finger, finding some sort of metal bird descending. "That's a plane. It's what muggles use to fly."

"And how fast do they go?"

"Around nine hundred kilometers per hour," Lily said.

"Wow, that's way faster than any broom I've heard of!" Harry said. "Are muggles _really_ that advanced?"

"Not really," she answered. "You used a Portkey to get here right?" Harry nodded. "Well, that would be our equivalent to the muggle planes. We would never use brooms to travel for very far, barring unusual circumstances."

"Okay, but what abo- why is that muggle talking to himself?" Harry gestured discretely to a man in a suit walking past them, holding a big bulky box to his ear...or something. "Is he a few pieces short of a set?"

"Oh no, that's a cellular phone. It lets muggles talk to other muggles without being near them."

"Fascinating," Harry said. "How come we don't have something like that?"

Lily shrugged. "Wizards don't really need it, do they? I mean generally, we could just Apparate to whoever we want to talk to. Besides, the cellular phone has its drawbacks too. For one, it doesn't work quite as well in rural areas _and_ they have to pay for it. At worst, we could just use the Floo."

_It could still be useful_. "Do muggles have something like the Floo too?"

"A landline phone, for their houses. Unfortunately, it doesn't show you who you're speaking with or allow you to travel."

Harry snorted. "How pitiful. Still, it's amazing that they've managed to get this far with their own magic."

"Technology."

"Yeah, that. Mother still seems to be of the impression that they live in mud huts and struggle with lighting fires," Harry said.

There was a moment's pause. "How about some muggle art?" Lily asked. "There's a museum nearby."

_-The Magnate-_

"You found the museum dull," Lily said. It was the reason why they were coming back two hours earlier than planned.

"A little," Harry said, "I mean there were some things that were cool, but everything was far too...stationary. I prefer my pictures and statues moving, thank you.

"I can't believe this!" Melissa's voice was muffled by the heavy door, but still comprehensible.

Harry sighed heavily. "Mother and Father are fighting. Again."

Lily glanced at the door, then back to Harry. "We should give them some privacy," she said, sounding worried.

"It's fine." Harry waved away her concerns. "I mean, usually, it's the same things they fight about."

"I promised him!" James screamed. "What did you want me to do? Not let him go with her today?"

Harry's face scrunched up. Were they fighting over him? He leaned in closer to listen.

"That's exactly what you should've done!" his mother shrieked. "That half-blood whelp of yours has too much freedom!"

Half-blood? That couldn't be him. He was a pureblood, through and through! Still, curiosity piqued, Harry kept his ear by the keyhole.

Harry picked up on the faint sound of clattering wood. "You are talking about my son!" Father's voice was like thunder, a loud, angry warning.

It didn't deter Melissa in the slightest. "You always bring that up, always! I know he's your son!" she snarled. "Every time I look at Harry's face I see his mother's!" Harry's heart hammered so loudly in his chest it might have given him away.

Was Melissa not his mother? Was he really a half-blood? The very idea was preposterous, and yet mother's words rang true to his soul.

"It's a constant reminder of who he is, of what you did!" she continued.

"We've been over this before." Father said evenly. The volume of his voice suggested many things – frustration, fatigue, futility. "You raised him."

"I have only one son, James, and it is Robert – not Harry!"

Robert wasn't his brother? Harry stammered backwards on shaky feet, the revelation hitting with the force of a hundred Bludgers.

A pair of soft hands fell on his shoulders in support. "Harry…"

"I…she's not my mother." he whispered. His head whipped around. "Please, please, don't tell them I know. I…I need time to deal with this."

Lily wanted to say something, she really did, but Harry didn't look like he could handle anymore.

"Please," Harry begged.

"Okay." She acceded. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here." she said gently.

"Thank you. I…I'm going for a walk." He rubbed his eyes, feeling them go pricklish suddenly.

Harry was thankful it rained that night.

-_The Magnate-_

"_Date: August 19__th__, 1991. Subject: Lily Evans, mudblood. Known member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, vocal mudblood rights activist and suspected Phoenix Movement recruit. Subject is exceptionally talented at Charms and was one of Dumbledore's trusted researchers. Threat Level 4. Recommend that further surveillance be conducted upon her return. _

_Subject: Joshua Bell, pureblood. Possible muggle sympathizer. No known affiliations. Threat Level 1. Further research on personal history required..._"

-Threat Report by Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Watcher Division


	4. Arrival at Durmstrang

**Chapter 4: Durmstrang**

_**1 September 1991**_

It was a lie.

The phrase became Harry's mantra and he recited it with a religiousness the Pope would have praised.

It was a lie. It had to be.

After all, the very idea that he was a bastard was absolutely ridiculous! His parents had been together since…well, since he could remember. Besides, Father wasn't the type to cheat on Mother. And Mother was as prim and proper as purebloods went. She detested the notion of infidelity; uttering the word in her presence was taboo. No, she'd rather leave Dad then stand the disgrace.

"What's to say you weren't born before?" a voice looming behind him whispered. "After all, you're parents weren't always together now. You could be a love child with your Father's fling. Didn't Uncle Sirius say your Father had a few women back in the day?"

There was no way that could be true.

"But…why not?"

It just couldn't be.

"So confident about yourself…or is it just fear of the truth? Look for the truth, Harry. Look."

No.

"This will haunt you if you don't. You'll think about this day and night, like you have for the past three days."

I…

"We both know it. Stop running away, Harry. Or would you rather keep living a lie?"

My life isn't a lie!

"But you'll never be sure, will you? Not unless you find out for real. After all, how could knowing the truth hurt more than you're already hurting?"

But…where do I start? Do I ask somebody?

"The adults will never tell you what you want to know. 'You're too young'. 'I'll tell you when you're older'. 'It's a grown up thing.' Heard of those before? No, Harry, we ask the first question. Why can't it be true?"

Mother wouldn't stand it.

"Have you ever considered maybe you're the reason she hates bastards? Because your Father had one, had you? You're a constant a reminder to her that your Father loved someone else once, enough to sire a child. Wouldn't that just _kill _her inside?"

Dad wouldn't.

"But he did."

They'd been together since-

"since you could remember? Yet, how far back does your memory stretch? Not too far now that you think about it, right?"

As much as Harry wanted to deny it, it did make a whole lot of sense. It explained why his mother loved Robert more. It explained why his parents were always fighting. It explained why his mother still looked at him like he was a stranger. Why her eyes were ice towards him. Why he seemed to burn her with his touch.

The voice ceased to speak, but it left him with the dreaded certainty of knowing.

He was a half-blood. He was a bastard.

_-The Magnate-_

_**6 September 1991 **_

Robert huffed. "It's going to be dull here with you gone."

"I'm sure mother will keep you busy." Harry, donning a dress shirt and a pair of brown, wool pants, looked his outfit over in front of the mirror, debating whether or not he needed a tie to look muggle enough. "Do you think I'll blend in?"

"I dunno, I guess?" Robert's words didn't fill him with much confidence. "What do I know of muggle robes?" Finally settling on no tie, Harry grabbed his wand from his bedside stand. "You'll write home, right?" Robert said.

Harry paused, an incredulous expression settling in. "Course I will. Why wouldn't I?"

Robert's shoulders rose and fell as they headed downstairs. "You've just…been so distant lately."

"I was studying."

"The last two weeks were different. You never came out of your room aside from meals, sometimes not even then." Had he really? Harry had been trying to avoid his parents ever since that night in Vienna, but he didn't think anyone had realized. "It's like you've been avoiding everyone."

Harry frowned. "Not everyone. Just, I didn't feel like talking."

"Did I do something to make you mad?" he said all of a sudden, his eyes growing wide with horrid understanding.

"What? No!" Harry answered immediately. "It's nothing."

Robert continued to eye him warily. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Trust me, it's nothing you did."

His face lit up like Christmas had come early. "Okay brother!" James was waiting for him by the door, absently reading through a copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

"I'll see you on Christmas," Harry said, then, with conscious choice, leaned forward to hug him, "Brother."

And in his heart, he knew it was true no matter what his parents said.

Unlike Hogwarts, which preferred the use of locomotive transport, Durmstrang preferred to use ships, or so, Harry could surmise from their instructions to assemble on some random strip of coast. King's Cross had Platform 9 and ¾; a sort of barrier only magical could cross if his dad's description was to be trusted. Maybe there was something similar he needed to do here? The letter wasn't very clear on what to do after getting to the beach.

"Did the letter say anything else?" James asked, looking just as lost as him.

Harry shook his head. "Not that I remember. Let me check again." He patted down his pockets in search of the acceptance letter.

A loud "Pop!" heralded more arrivals. Harry's eyes latched on instinct to the older of the two, a tall woman with light brown skin. What struck Harry the most about her, though, were her long, brown, slanting eyes. They had a glint to them that was both predatory and regal.

The younger of the two was a familiar face. "_Buongiorno, _Harry. How was Vienna?"

"Good to see you, Blaise. It was pretty cool actually, a lot different from England."

James and the woman, Blaise's mother presumably, exchanged greetings that were neither cordial nor cold. They knew each other, or at least, knew of each other.

Blaise threw glances around curiously. "I'm not late, am I?" he asked. "I mean, this place looks utterly deserted."

"It was like this when we got here," Harry told him.

"Alright," Blaise said, turning to him again before frowning as he scrutinized Harry's getup. "What are you wearing?"

"Muggle clothes. Dad thought there'd be some around."

"Well, there aren't so go put a robe on. You look ridiculous!"

In the period of time it took him to find his blood red Durmstrang robes from his trunk and put it on, two more groups had joined them; a brother and a sister with their mother and a blonde, dreamy-eyed girl with her equally dazed father.

Blaise nudged Harry with his elbow. "Think they're headed to Durmstrang too?" he whispered.

"Doubt it. They're uniforms don't look anything like ours." The three all sported sky blue clothing that looked to be of silk, hardly winter clothing. They would freeze if they went to Durmstrang wearing that.

"Hello," the girl with the far-away countenance greeted. "You've got a nasty infestation of Wrackspurts."

The only reaction Harry could muster was blinking. How was one supposed to react to that anyhow?

"Sorry?" Blaise leaned forward, just as puzzled. "What are Wrackspurts?"

"Oh, I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them. They're not talked about much anymore. Wrackspurts are creatures that float into your ear and make your brain go fuzzy." she said matter-of-factly. "I'm Luna, by the way. Luna Lovegood."

"Nice to meet you, Luna," Harry said. "Er, these Wrackspurts, was it? How come we can't see them?"

"They're invisible of course." she said with a look of utter seriousness, yet somehow maintained the air of distinct eccentricity about her. "Nothing to worry about though. Thinking positive thoughts can cure you of them easily."

Harry was left wondering if she was really crazy or if she was pulling one on them. "So where are you headed?" Blaise asked, steering the conversation towards more relatable grounds.

"The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, in the Pyrenees." she said. "I'm hoping I can continue my research on Quibbling Skivers there. France has the largest concentration in the world."

Having neither heard of "Quibbling Skivers", nor the inclination to know what it was, Harry decided to just nod along and pretend he knew what she was talking about. "Fascinating. Well, I wish you best of luck on your 'research'."

The sarcastic lilt at the end went unnoticed for she beamed at him and bid them a genuine farewell, before skipping back to her father. Literally, she skipped.

"Odd little girl." Harry said.

"Completely barmy," Blaise agreed.

"She looks rather young. Does Beauxbatons accept students her age?"

Blaise stroked his chin contemplatively. "Not sure. I mean they do have this preteen 'cultural preparedness' course."

"'Cultural preparedness?'" Harry repeated with a disdainful snort. "What, do they teach you the proper way to pick up a spoon during dinner?"

"More or less," Blaise said. "Complete waste of time really. It's the reason Mum chose Durmstrang in the end."

The mighty roar of falling water, not unlike a waterfall, reached his ears. They turned to see a ship rising out of the depths. The sails unfurled, the proud sigil of Durmstrang displayed on the mainsail. A man stood on the ship's maintop, the brief glints of sun striking his body to give him an ethereal appearance. The frigate finished surfacing but remained in place. Instead, a rowboat was lowered and it glided towards the beach at a pace that left no doubt magic was involved.

"Durmstrang all aboard! Durmstrang all aboard!" a man shouted in German as soon as the boat hit the sand.

Harry made to pick up his trunk, only to find his dad was already dragging it forward. By the time he had caught up, he saw the man who had been shouting engaged with James in a conversation.

"…strung takes the safety of all its students very seriously. Each Durmstrang ship is accompanied by two Masters and three Aurors."

"Aurors? From which Ministry?"

"All Ministries which have an interest in Durmstrang's security volunteer. The ones on this ship are from Norway, Germany and Finland," the man explained patiently. "These Aurors, aside from taking vows, are all alumni of our school. They are loyal without a doubt. Now really sir, we must be on our way soon if we wish to make it for the Opening Feast."

James grabbed Harry and enveloped him in a warm embrace. "Keep out of trouble, okay?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It'll be fine Dad."

James nodded, parting reluctantly so his son could board. The moment Harry was on the rowboat it took off again, returning to the ship at an even faster rate. Harry looked back to his father who stood in silent vigil on the beach. He did not move until the ship was out of sight.

"_Einherjar_?" Blaise's words drew his gaze to the ship's name on the frigate's side.

"It's from Viking mythology. _Einherjar_, the warriors brought to Valhalla by the Valkyries," the man provided. His companion, a gruff man, grunted in agreement. "Oh, Master Herodotus, by the way. I teach History."

"Good morning, Master Herodotus. I'm Blaise Zabini."

"Harry Potter," Harry followed a moment later.

"Yes, yes, I know who you two are. The new Brits Durmstrang will be housing." Herodotus peered at them through his round spectacles. "British enrollees have been rarer and rarer since Albus Dumbledore took the reins of Hogwarts. Plenty of inquiries, but few of them ever chose Durmstrang in the end. I suppose it was only a matter of time we'd get some Brits again with Dumbledore gone really. Peculiar, but I suppose given the acceptance policies of the school, it's not too hard to understand why."

Harry and Blaise exchanged looks but kept silent.

"The changing ethnic composition of the Durmstrang student populace is simply a fascinating field of research," Herodotus continued. "I'm no expert, of course, that would be Master Pajari!" He chuckled to himself, sounding rather awkward in Harry's opinion. His unnamed Auror companion sighed. "He has a theory on how we can project the long term future of countries relative to each other by using ratios of Durmstrang students…" Harry continued to nod politely as the man droned on. Blaise had this glassy-eyed look on his blank face.

As they drew progressively closer to the ship, its finer details became noticeable. Aside from its sails – which remained in prime, almost mint, condition – there was no evidence the ship was propelled physically.

Its masthead though, that was the centerpiece. A winged beauty watching over the sea, one hand held a sword while the other bathed in flames. There was a certain something to it, some invisible force at work that demanded you pay attention.

Herodotus must have noticed Harry's gaze lingered on the carving, for he decided it was an opportune time to discuss the subject. "Ah, interested in the masthead I see! It's a Valkyrie, the chooser of the slain in Norse Mythology. They were a host of females who descended from the heavens, tasked with deciding a man's fate in battle. Notice, however, the wings and their manipulation of fire? What do they remind you of?"

Blaise beat Harry to the answer. "Veelas."

Herodotus bobbed his head eagerly. "Exactly! The uncanny resemblance of Valkyries to the Veela have led many scholars to conclude they were one and the same. The fact that Scandinavia has the highest Veela-to-wizard ratio in the world seems to support this idea. Next to them, of course, would be the Brazilian Veelas Tribes which were discovered…"

Thankfully, the rowboat was soon hoisted back onto the deck, sparing the boys from listening to the tiring, albeit mildly interesting, teacher.

"You boys best get below deck before we go under," the Auror that had accompanied Herodotus said, directing them towards a descending staircase not far from where they stood.

The ship fitted five floors underdeck comfortably, far more than what should have been naturally possible.

"Let's see if this room's available," Blaise said, rapping his knuckles against the wood door, a sigil of some sort noticeably carved into it, twice. "Huh, no answer."

Harry tried the door across. "This one too."

Blaise grasped the knob with both hands, shaking it furiously, but it stubbornly refused to turn.

"_Rövhål!_" spat a voice from the inside. It was followed by a rapid string of incomprehensible words.

"What language was that even in?" Blaise asked and Harry shrugged.

"It's occupied!" the voice said, in German now. "Go somewhere else!"

Harry smoothly strode towards the door and in a voice louder than necessary, said, "Thanks!" He tugged at his trunk, heading further down the hallway. "C'mon Blaise, let's see if we can find a place over there."

A half hour and two floors later, they were still searching. Blaise banged on the door twice.

A girl's voice greeted them, though neither understood a word that was said. "I thought German was supposed to be standard," Harry muttered. Still, the tone seemed relatively welcoming, not that that was saying much given their treatment so far. "Mind if we share the room with you lot? Everywhere else is full," he said.

"Certainly," the same voice answered. "The door's open."

Harry opened the door with one hand, the other purposely dragging his trunk inside with some effort. In the center of the room sat two blondes opposite each other, a boy immersed in a book and a girl looking right at them. Another girl with a head of gold sat by the charmed window on the far wall, watching the fish swim by.

"Thanks for having us," Blaise said, dropping his trunk by theirs. "The name's Blaise and this is Harry."

"A pleasure to meet you," the girl that spoke earlier said. "I'm Dayna, this is Damarion," -she pointed to the boy sitting across her, who offered them a friendly wave before returning to his book- "and over there is Astrid." The girl by the window turned to them briefly and smiled softly, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear.

As far as Harry could tell, she wasn't wearing any makeup. Astrid's lips were a rich shade of red, soft and luscious. Her skin was pearly white and you could practically feel how smooth it was just by looking. She had a slender neck and high cheekbones, but most striking of all was her hair. It wasn't golden like Daphne's or a dirty blonde like Lavender's. Sun-kissed, perhaps, was the best word for it.

"Where are you two from?" Dayna asked.

Astrid's attention had returned to the window and Harry reluctantly broke his gaze. "Britain," he said. "Yourself?"

"All three of us are from Sweden, same village in fact," she said. "Britain huh? Fascinating. What's it like there? I've always wanted to go."

"It's either foggy or rainy nine days out of ten," Harry said, seating himself, "and the other one is foggy _and_ rainy."

"Isn't your friend going to sit down?" Damarion asked, finally setting aside his book on an empty chair.

Blaise was still standing by the trunks, staring brazenly at Astrid.

"Blaise?" Harry called out. "You alright mate?" No answer. "It's rude to stare you know."

He blinked, his face scrunched in confusion. "Was I? Sorry." He shook his head before walking over to join them.

"She's used to it," Damarion said. "You two might be the only wizards on this ship not from Nordenjord."

"Norden-what now?" Blaise said. Harry frowned as well.

"Nordenjord," he repeated.

Blaise glanced at Harry. "Is that a country?"

"Not one I've heard of," Harry answered. "We're terrible at geography," he said by way of explanation.

"It's Scandinavia, basically," Dayna said.

"Scandinavia and Iceland," Damarion corrected.

Dayna rolled her eyes. "Right. Anyway, we were talking about the Placement Exams before you two showed up. Any idea how you'll fare?"

The Placement Exams, Harry recalled, had been discussed in his acceptance letter. It was a test administered to new students to determine their level at a particular subject. Durmstrang prided itself in cultivating magical talent, and did so by allowing talented students to learn at their own pace.

"I'm decent at Transfiguration and Potions I guess, but I haven't really studied much on the other subjects," Blaise said. Smirking, he continued. "I'd be surprised if Harry didn't make at least third year though."

Harry threw a dirty look at him. Not because it wasn't true - because objectively his skill at Charms was at that point, even Miss Lily had said so - but rather, he didn't see the need to tell people that.

"Third year?" Astrid repeated, staring at him with renewed interest. She walked over to one of the free chairs. "That's impressive!"

"Are you really?" Damarion asked, a hint of skepticism coloring his words. Not surprising given how bold the claim.

Harry shrugged. "Blaise is a lot more confident about it than I am."

"After seeing your stint with the flame animation, how could I not be? It was solid second year work," he said. "And knowing you, you probably studied excessively the last two months to round out your Charms. Am I right?"

"…Maybe." Blaise's smirk turned into a victorious grin. "Oh, stuff it, Zabini. With the way you're acting, you'd think it was you who's getting bumped up two years."

"Well, I'm a friend of someone who is. It's the next best thing y'know, without the need to practice."

"How so?" Astrid asked.

"Free Charms tutor."

Harry glared at his so called friend. "Just for that, I'm going to teach you wrong."

If anything, Blaise's insufferable grin grew wider.

Astrid laughed, drawing the boys' attention towards her again. It felt...strange. Astrid was pretty, Harry couldn't deny, but he didn't feel anything in particular. There was just something naturally compelling about her.

Blaise wasn't faring any better as a dreamy expression settled onto his face. He seemed perfectly happy just listening to her voice.

"Better reign it in, Astrid. They don't seem to be faring well."

"Sorry." Astrid stared at her lap intently.

And just like that, a pressure he didn't even know was there dissipated. Her beauty hadn't diminished and, in a few years, Harry was certain she'd be quite the looker. It's just he no longer felt compelled to pay attention to her.

"What was that?" Blaise blinked, his eyes swerving wildly.

"You don't know?" Damarion asked incredulously. "It was her allure, obviously."

"Her allure?" Harry asked, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Damarion looked to the heavens and sighed.

"Astrid's a Veela," Dayna said. "Her allure can hit pretty hard if you don't know it's there."

Blaise took a closer look at her. "Huh. _Weird_." He paused. "Aren't Veela danger-OW!" Blaise glared at Harry who met it unflinchingly.

"The allure is no Imperius," Damarion said. "If you know it's there, you can shrug it off easily."

"It's not quite _that_ simple, but Damarion isn't entirely wrong," Dayna said. "I never found it much of a bother myself."

"I thought Veela only affected men?" Blaise asked, more Harry than anyone else.

"I know just as much as you," he said.

_-The Magnate-_

Blaise hurriedly jumped back into the ship's walled lower deck, shaking violently as a blast of bone-chilling air hit him. "Merlin's Beard! It's freezing out there!"

"That's what the winter coat's for," said Harry, sidestepping him easily to get outside. The _Einherjar_ had surfaced five minutes ago, signaling that Castle Durmstrang was near. It wasn't surprising that the excitable first years rushed to the deck in order to get a glimpse of the school.

Even with his crimson fur coat layered with a strong warming charm, the cold still seeped into his bones. Harry wondered if he should've brought warmer clothes, because there was no way he could survive three months of this temperature.

"Don't worry about it," Dayna said, peering over the ship's side. "It'll be much warmer on Castle grounds, where the mountains shield you from the wind."

Taking heart at the words, Harry joined her. Some of the merfolk – the non-predatory cousins of the sirens – were lounging near the ship. Occasionally, one of the children would wave or swim alongside. _Einherjar _slowed its pace considerably as it entered an inland river. The faint outline of a castle was visible in the distance and mountaintops peaked over even the castle's highest tower.

The midday sun hung low in the sky, its light framing the landscape in an almost mystical way. Hues of orange and shades of red mixed freely with earthly brown and green. Some of the merfolk continued to trail behind them lazily, soaking up what sun they could.

"Ah, dearest students!" a professor's all too familiar voice said from their six. "Enjoying the autumn view, I see?"

"Yes, Master Herodotus," Dayna answered in a resigned tone.

"It'll last for a few more weeks, I reckon. Autumn was slow to come this year, so it'll be a while before winter overtakes it. Master Vinter was just telling me the other day how the polar nights might last even longer this year, " he said, nodding to himself knowingly. "Say, do you know about this river we're on?"

He was talking until they got to Durmstrang itself, a full twenty minutes talking about the waterway, called the Angren river and its origins, the Twin Lakes of Nordloch and Sudenmere that lay within the outer walls of Durmstrang. These were merpeople sanctuaries apparently.

Harry had mastered the art of tuning him out by the time they had crossed the Angrenost – the outer wall's river portcullis that served as the main entrance of the school. A menacing obelisk made of black stone towered beside the gate, built into the very wall. Though calm, Harry was left with the impression that it could become the center of powerful, malevolent energy at a moment's notice.

A surprisingly vast expanse of plant life and trees existed even this far north, covering wide stretches of land to either side of the river. Noticeably, there were fewer of these once they passed through the gate. It was already impressive hiding the Highmaster's tower from prying muggle eyes, much less the acres of land.

Beyond the raised portcullis of the castle itself were ships from varying ages and places, resting on the calm waters as students disembarked. The empty ones sailed further forward before veering off to either side of a fork. These must have lead to the Twin Lakes, Harry thought. It would make sense that the ships would dock there when not in use.

Finally, it was their turn to leave the ship.

"Quickly everyone! To the Feasting Hall!" Herodotus shouted over the low chatter of children. "Your luggage will be sent to your dorms, so don't worry about those!"

The halls were at least ten men wide, so even with the influx of students, it wasn't really crowded. Harry and Blaise contented themselves with following the crowd, bringing up the rear. There were nearly a thousand students gathered and even the Feasting Hall's immense size was barely enough to seat them all. Despite the absence of any prearranged seating, the first years opted to stay with their shipmates. Among the older students, intermixing was more frequent, although Germans and Russians as an unspoken rule didn't interact.

Once they were all seated, a scholarly looking elder rose from the staff table. The murmurings died to respectful silence as he prepared to address them.

"Sons and Daughters of Durmstrang," he began, a charm amplifying the sound by several magnitudes, "welcome home!" If he was expecting a reaction from the students, he got it in spades. A kind smile appeared on his face as he waited for the explosive cheering to settle. "To our youngest members, warmest greetings! I am Zelislav Dvorsky, Highmaster of this fine establishment."

"Our Institute is one of the oldest in Europe. We have produced some of the greatest witches and wizards of the world. To be a student here is also to be a part-" here he coughed violently, but everyone waited without a word, "-to be a part of its rich history and tradition. I hope that all of you will continue to live up to the Durmstrang name."

"In the next few days, first termers, you will undergo a series of tests to determine your aptitude in each subject. Those who are advanced enough will be assigned higher level classes. Not to fear though, for those subjects which you have no knowledge of, you will be placed in an introductory class. This procedure is merely to ensure our students learn at their own rate. Here at Durmstrang, we believe in cultivating excellence through competition and-" *cough* "-the recognition of talent."

"To help our fine new additions in adjusting to the unique culture of our school, you will be paired up, as is tradition, with an older student who will act as your guide during the uncertain first steps into our world. Trust in them, trust in the system, but most importantly, trust in yourselves." He raised his golden cup in salute. "Hail Durmstrang!"

"Hail Durmstrang!"


	5. The Placement Exams

**Chapter 5: The Placement Exams**

_**6 September 1991**_

The Opening Feast was far from over when Viktor Krum walked out of the hall to his friends' puzzled looks.

"Master Bujnowski!" he called out after the dour-faced Pole, never even breaking his own hurried stride. The professor - broad-shouldered, tall and with hawkish eyes that bore no hint of humor - turned to regard his charge.

The Transfiguration Master waited, impatient irritation unmasked. "What."

Viktor slowed to a more reasonable pace. He waved a slip of parchment in the air. "I think there's been a mistake, sir. I'm in my 2nd Term for the year. I can't be a mentor!"

"No mistake, Krum."

"But Master! Mentorship is for one term only!" he said.

"Well, you should've been done by now if you had done your job right!" Bujnowski glared, taking an angry step towards Viktor. "Do you understand what you did? That boy nearly flunked out of his second term – his second! – because he didn't even know what the Adjustment was!"

"But sir, I can explain. I had to practice for t-"

"Bah! Quidditch, is that all you think about?" Bujnowski crossed his arms, eyeing him with contempt. "I swear boy, you are one class away from being kicked out of Transfiguration and you still obsess over that dream of yours. Grow up, Viktor. Now, go teach that boy and this time, do it right!" He turned on his heel, stalking away.

"Great! With the BYQL right around the corner too!" Still, it couldn't be too bad, right? I mean, it wasn't like he had to hang out with this kid during all his breaks, maybe just once or twice a week at most. He glanced at the slip to reread the student he had been assigned.

Harry James Potter  
Freyr Dorms - 77

If this Harry Potter was staying at the Acres, then he couldn't be that bad. Chances were he wasn't a rich brat with superiority issues and the fact that he wasn't German…well, that could only be a plus in Viktor's books. At the very least, it would be interesting to see how the British were different. All in all, he could have gotten a lot worse in the draw.

That settled, Viktor walked back to finish his dinner, making a mental note to stop by Harry Potter's room before light's out.

_-The Magnate-_

"75…76...here we are," Harry said.

Blaise turned the knob; brisk, wide steps marking his entrance. The two others who would be sharing the room with them were already inside. Both of them looked to be their age.

"Hello there roomies, I'm Blaise Zabini, and this guy, well, he's not important," he said, walking up to the first and offering his hand.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter." With that said, he moved to unpack.

"Aldric," the boy with dark hair said, politely standing to shake his hand, "Aldric Hochberg." He was tall for an eleven year old, at least a head taller than Harry.

"Gasto Kistler," the other said, remaining comfortably supine on his bed as he flipped through a magazine leisurely.

They settled into a comfortable pattern with Blaise steering the course of conversation easily and Aldric acting as his audience. Harry listened halfheartedly, occasionally remarking on something or the other, but mostly remained content in going through his things. Gasto himself only spoke when spoken to.

The room was homey, if simple. Some kind of temperature charm had been layered into the floors and walls to keep the room warm, so they didn't need to keep wrapped up in their winter coats all the time. Four beds and four bedside tables took up most of the space, their personal trunks resting at the foot of each bed with a small gap so one could pass through the middle. At one end of the room was a door leading to the halls, the other opened to their bath. The only complaint one might raise was the lack of real windows, though the magically charmed glass that offered a nice view of the northern lake more than made up for it.

There was a knock on the door. "Room 77, Harry Potter?" The voice had an accent to it that was distinctly Slavic in origin.

Aldric was the closest and moved to open it. The young man who stepped in was thin and of sleek build, toned muscles showing him to be a Quidditch player of serious caliber. His skin was dark, dry and flaky with a large, curved nose and thick brows. He didn't look too pleased to be here, and his eyes, while scanning the room, had an intensity to them.

"Which of you is Harry Potter?"

Tentatively, Harry raised his hand. "Are you my mentor?"

"Yes, I'm Viktor Krum. You have any questions so far?"

"None he'd want you answering, Vicky." Viktor's stance became stiff and his fists turned might as well have been rocks for all their rigidity as he turned around.

The four first years exchanged worried glances, keeping still and silent, as if any action of theirs would trigger a scene.

"You're blocking the way," another voice added. "Move or be moved."

Viktor stepped aside, the shaking body a mix of restrained rage and suspicion. Two boys about his age stepped in; chins high and eyes appraising, as if they were judging the worth of each person. It made Harry feel self-conscious and he sat up a little straighter.

"Reynold Burgstaller, fifth year, accelerated in Transfiguration and Potions."

"And I'm Theodoric Dietrich, accelerated in Dueling. _German_," he said, sounding proudest about that.

"Mentorship is for fourth years," spat out Viktor. "What are you two doing here?"

Reynold tutted. "Unlike you, we consider mentorship a privilege." He glanced at Harry once more, than made a show of shaking his head.

"Take my advice Brit," Theodoric said, gesturing to Viktor with his thumb, "and request for a new mentor. This one's simply no good. He's probably going to flunk Ivanovovitch's class this year anyway. That'll be what, Viktor, the _third _class you'll be vetoed from?"

"Second," Viktor said through gritted teeth.

Theodoric sighed. "Shame, I was hoping you'd be expelled at last."

"Not to worry. I'm sure it won't take him long to get thrown out of Herbology. All he seems capable of thinking about is his nonexistent Quidditch career. He'll amount to nothing, as is expected of a half-blood."

Harry's insides turned to ice. Half-blood, the word echoed in his ears like condemnation. If these people found out about him, would he face the same treatment? It seemed likely.

Viktor closed the gap between them in an instant, his fist making contact with Reynold not a moment later. He drew his wand-

Theodoric jabbed his wand viciously in Viktor's direction. "_Expelliarmus._" On instinct, Viktor tightened his grip, but was sent flying through the door instead of his wand. "_Colloportus_." The door barred itself.

Then Theodoric turned his wand on Reynold and the reddish discoloration on his face faded quickly. Reynold didn't say anything, not even a word of thanks, as if this was merely routine for them.

"Sorry about that unpleasantness, but Krum is not someone you want around." Theodoric smiled at them winningly. "You're better off without him, honestly. If you ever have questions, Reynold and I are happy to help," he said earnestly.

"So what are the exams like?" Aldric asked.

"Difficult in the extreme," Theodoric said. "Nothing to worry about though," he added hastily, "you can't actually fail. They're trying to gauge just how much you know, so its a comprehensive test that covers all seven years."

"Talk about excessive," Blaise said.

"After the exams, you have the Adjustment," Theodoric continued.

"Adjustment? Adjusting for what?" Aldric asked.

"The schedules you're given at first assumes a perfectly average student of your batch, but for the ones who accelerate or are held back, these schedules might not work so well. That's where Adjustment comes in, you get to rearrange things to make all your classes fit," Theodoric said.

Blaise tilted his head. "What if they can't fit."

"Not likely," Reynold said. "Never heard of anyone experiencing that."

"Each subject has at least three professors working full time. Well, except Flying and Magical Theory, but you only take those in your first year," Theodoric said. "The important subject can have up to five or six masters, so you have some flexibility."

"Do you know why the other students keep calling us first termers?" Blaise asked. "I mean, they looked about our age, so why the distinction?"

"Ah, well you see, the Durmstrang year is divided into three more or less equal terms, and we treat each term as an independent period," Theodoric said. "It allows us to take in new students every term. Me and Reynold, for example, entered the term before Summer break, in May."

"Oh!" said Aldric, his eyes lighting up. "So when they say Charms one-three, it's really just first year Charms."

"The latter third, but yes," confirmed Theodoric. "Students in Durmstrang usually get accepted on the term after they turn eleven."

Blaise frowned. "When do the terms start anyway?" he asked.

"First weeks of September, January and May," Reynold said.

"Why would Durmstrang do that though? Doesn't make much sense to me," Blaise said, his frown deepening.

Reynold shrugged. "The Overseers' Board does not like wasting time."

The two stayed until five minutes to curfew, when they made their way to their own dorms over at Central. Harry didn't say a word throughout it all.

_-The Magnate- _

Viktor pushed himself up to see the door closing. "_Alohamora_!" he said, putting every ounce of skill behind the spell.

It failed utterly.

He scowled. Theodoric's charms were a step above his. He'd be a fool to try that again and expect it work. Transfiguration might...no stupid idea. Durmstrang was a magically fortified structure, the end product of the brightest wizards and witches from over two dozen countries. He'd be lucky to manage even the slightest alteration.

He could try blasting through the door, but he'd have to explain why he had done so. Somehow, he doubted the staff would view getting into fights on the first day favorably.

"Rough day, Viktor?"

He turned to see a curly-haired brunette up to him. Her Mediterranean complexion made it obvious she was from the south, a breed rather uncommon in Durmstrang.

"Just Burgstaller and Dietrich," he said.

"They're getting bolder these days. I wonder why?"

"All I know is that the scum are recruiting among the lower years, Gina." Viktor growled, his glare returning to the door that denied him entrance. "What brings you here by the way? You dorm at Riverwatch, don't you?"

"I stay at Egir, yes. My mentee's staying in this room too," she said. "A Blaise Zabini."

"Sounds Italian, would make sense pairing you up then," he said. His brows scrunched. "I didn't know Durmstrang was getting another one this year though. Don't they usually go to Beauxbatons?"

"Oh, you'll find the occasional family that prefers Durmstrang," Gina said, walking past him and examining the door intently. "This Locking Spell was skillfully done, if a bit rushed."

"Do you think you could open it?" Viktor asked.

"Probably," she said, "but I'm not particularly enthused with the idea of spending time with the staff tonight as witness to a fight."

Viktor could grudgingly understand that. "They are a vicious pair. I don't know why the staff let them get away with so much."

"They do well in class," Gina said, "and you know how well-liked they are by the other German purebloods. By the way, I heard you placed third in the Bulgarian Youth League. Congratulations." She was referring to his team's victory last April, two terms ago.

"Thank you. It was just enough to get my team an invitation the Balkan League."

"All that hard work paying off at last. I mean, you were gone for half a term, after all. It'd be a shame if it was for nothing."

Viktor winced, remembering his father's harsh rebuke when he found out about his misconduct. "Don't remind me. I'm already seriously delayed as is. If it wasn't for father and Master Bujnowski, I would've been kicked out already," he said then sighed. "I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow morning if we want to talk to our mentees."

"That would be best," she said.

They continued to walk in comfortable silence.

"Bujnowski hates me." Viktor moaned on impulse, unable to overcome the need to share.

Gina snorted. "No he doesn't. He's just upset you let him down. He put his own career on the line when he argued for your reacceptance last term, after all." Viktor had been on probation after his second stint at cutting school for Quidditch and the staff held a meeting to determine his fate. "He wouldn't do that if he hated you."

"Well, he must hate me now," Viktor said. "I've jeopardized his chances at making Highmaster by screwing up with my former mentee."

"If you knew that then why did you leave your last mentee alone?"

"I forgot, okay? It's just…" He struggled to find the right words. "when I play Quidditch, it's all I think about. I forget everything else…does that make sense?"

To his surprise, she didn't criticize him for that. "Like the world disappears around you. In that moment, it's just you and your passion – nothing else matters. It's easy to get lost in something you love."

_-The Magnate-_

_**7 September 1991**_

Viktor had always been an early riser. His devotion to Quidditch necessitated it. Practice, breakfast, class, lunch, more class, practice, dinner, practice – that was a pretty good summary of his daily routine. He was startled when he found someone else on the pitch after an hour of self-practice. Six-thirty in the morning was still quite early. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone fly in Durmstrang at this time of day.

The flyer hadn't realized he was there, and Viktor decided to watch for a while. He was…good; more than good, actually. The talent was definitely there, if unrefined by a lack of dedicated training.

Deciding he had watched long enough, Viktor timed his dive so that he'd pull up right beside the mystery flyer. He pulled it off flawlessly. "You need to work on your angling for the Wronski Feint," he said as he neared, nearly causing the boy to fall over. "Don't worry, it's a difficult move to pull off. I'm sure you'll get it with time."

The boy had just recovered, slowing to a halt. Viktor did likewise, if only to get a good look at his face.

"Potter?" Viktor frowned at his mentee. "What are you doing up this early? You've got your exams today."

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "I'm a touch anxious today."

"You'll be fine," said Viktor, remembering his own exams vividly and the uncertainty that plagued him. "They don't kick anybody out for doing badly in these tests." He grinned. "After the tests, that's another story entirely." His joke fell flat.

"Those two last night, they mentioned things," Harry said, turning to watch the castle below, "about you and your one before me, I mean." The sun was already up, had been for a few hours now.

Viktor scowled. "Typical. What did they say about me? All bad things I suppose."

"They said that you met him once and left him clueless. He almost dropped out because he had no classes for his second term – he didn't know about the adjustment and he was held back for a couple of subjects." Harry faced Viktor once more, as if the truth was written on his face. "Is it true? What they said?"

There was a long pause. "Yes," he finally said. "But, there was a reason for it. I was very busy that term, preparing for a Quidditch game, an important one. I'm part of the young pro league back in my country, Bulgaria." Harry's head spun so fast, giving him a wide-eyed look.

"Wicked!" Viktor didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but his smile implied it was a compliment and he took it as that. "So are you playing soon?"

"At the Balkan Leagues during the Christmas break. I have to keep practicing so I can win the game for my team," he said.

"That must take up a lot of your time."

"It does."

"Oh…well if you're so busy why take on a mentee then?" Harry asked. He didn't want to be a burden.

"Being a mentor isn't a choice," Viktor said. "It's considered a requirement for students who pass their SWAM. You'll take that exam on your third year, probably. Anyway, completing a Mentorship is a requirement, as I've recently been informed."

"Why did Theodoric tell me to get a new one then if you're required to do it?"

Viktor scowled, remembering that part of the exchange. "To get me expelled probably. Theodoric and I don't get along, if you didn't notice. I'm on thin ice as it is with the masters and screwing up another Mentorship would have been sure to get me kicked out."

"And Theodoric and Reynold, why do they do it? They said they were fifth years so they should've been done with it, right?"

"They are volunteers," said Viktor. "Trying to spread their idea of the Neo-Hegemony, no doubt."

"The Neo-Hegemony?" Harry repeated. He knew of the Hegemony, Grindelwald's ideology of magical dominance and the unification of both worlds under one meritocratic, authoritarian order - his. His message of the "benign" magical overlord was a seductive one that transcended nationality, blood and class.

"You know about the Hegemony?"

"Well enough," Harry said.

"It's that with blood purism and a touch of nationalism. Keep clear of them, they are a dangerous sort to tangle with." Viktor wiped away a trickle of sweat trailing down his cheek. "We should head back soon. You don't want to be late for your exams."

_-The Magnate-_

"These tests suck." Blaise sulked, taking a seat in the Feasting Hall.

"It wasn't that bad," Harry said in English from across him. "At least, the Magical Theory one. Astronomy and Herbology though were just horrid."

"Don't mention Astronomy to me!" Blaise said, angrily stabbing a steak. "How are we supposed to know what Orion looks like based on a picture? Stars are stars!" He was chewing the meat viciously, like a predator.

A blonde mess plopped onto the seat to Harry's right. Astrid was mumbling what Harry could only guess was a string of Scandinavian curse words. "Odin" and "Thor" were the only words he was familiar with, and he heard them invoked alarmingly often.

Harry looked at her with pity, before tearing his eyes away and focusing on his food. Blaise's gaze lingered and Harry had to kick him sharply in the shin to break the allure's hold. "Where's Dayna and Damarion, you think?" This time he asked in German so Astrid wouldn't feel excluded.

"Dayna's right here," Dayna said, taking a seat beside Blaise. "Damarion has a new friend though." There was conspiracy in her smirk.

"Oh?" Blaise asked as he continued to devour his food. "Do tell."

Dayna sighed in an exaggerated fashion, dramatically placing a hand to her forehead. "Dearest 'Dar-Dar'-" this was done in air quotes "-has found himself charmed by another Veela; a Swede that goes by Nora. The poor dear'll be heartbroken by the end of the month when he finds out she has a boyfriend."

"I thought he was immune to Veelas?" Harry asked while he tried to decide which of the strange cuisine he should try next.

"To their allure, not to their beauty – and this one's a looker."

Astrid was now propping her head up lazily with an arm. "He has a crush on his Mentor." Harry couldn't help it – he burst out laughing. Did that make him a bad friend? Nah…Damarion was practically asking to be laughed at.

"Follows her everywhere like a lost puppy," said Dayna. "She finds him, what was the word, 'adorable'."

"Last we saw him, he was writing ballads that spoke of her 'impossibly green eyes' and 'hair like the moon's rays'. Quite the artist he's turning out to be."

"Did this happen a lot back at home?" Harry asked, settling on a decent helping of _Farikal_, a mutton stew the girls had recommended the previous night.

"Only in the last few weeks," Astrid confirmed. "His crushes never lasted too long."

"This steak is really good," Blaise said, completely off-topic. "Harry, you should try it. It's like beef, but better!"

"Oh, reindeer steak you mean," Dayna said.

There was a sound of metal clattering on the table. "Reindeer?" Blaise squawked, horrified and fork now abandoned. "I've been eating Rudolph this entire time?!"

"Yup," Astrid said, nonchalant to his dilemma. "You should try the sauce."

"You people are savages." Blaise sulked again.

_-The Magnate-_

_**8 September 1991**_

Yesterday after lunch, they had finished Creature Studies and History in addition to Magical Theory and Herbology. Those tests had left them feeling incredibly stupid and inadequate. Today, they'd be topping it off with Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and last but not least Dueling. Hopefully, they'd do better on these.

"Potions is both art and science," began Mistress Stukov, a Potioneer of some renown in Eastern Europe. "My craft is versatile, but volatile. Many years ago, Dueling accounted for 39% of all overnight stays with Healer Croce." She stopped pacing, turning sharply towards the assembled first termers. "48% were because of Potions. This statistic was…most upsetting to the Board. For this reason, they pushed through Durmstrang Decree 219." It seemed almost physically painful for her to say the next few words.

"'No student of Durmstrang shall be allowed to take Potions on their first term without prior testing on the competency of said student,'" she quoted, clapping her hands together. "So, let's cut to the chase, shall we? I've been at this job so long I can predict with such accuracy what will occur in the next few minutes you'd think I was the Oracle of Apollo."

Harry thought it was a reasonable claim, considering she looked to be the average age of their professors, around seventy or so.

"At least four of you will end up melting your cauldrons and one of those will require a visit to the Infirmary. So, anyone who has never made a potion before, I'd suggest you get out. If you do not have the ability to identify the basic potions ingredients – something your other classes will remedy after this term, I'm sure – then I insist you leave now. This is one subject where theory simply isn't enough to get you started and where mistakes, even at the basic level, can be…costly."

A girl seated near the front raised her hand and Mistress Stukov called on her. "Mistress, why would identifying the ingredients matter? I mean, they're labeled, aren't they?"

Natalya Stukov sighed, exasperated. "Miss Bayer, tell me, what is the first step in making a Potions?"

"Read the instructions," she answered confidently.

"The second?"

"Gather the ingredients."

"Correct, and once all the ingredients are laid out in front of you without their labels, do you think you could remember the names of each one if you had never seen them before?"

"Well…no."

Stukov nodded. "That is exactly why. Creatures and Herbology will leave you, at the very least, with a passing familiarity of these things during your first term so that obvious mistakes can be minimized. For those of you interested in this subject at an advanced level, I suggest you also take your Astronomy seriously. The alignment of planetary bodies can have slight, if interesting, effects on potions." With that, she started writing on the rolling blackboard to her side.

More than half the class took that as a sign to leave. "You staying for this?" Harry asked Blaise.

"Uh-huh," Blaise said a bit absently, eyes reading the instructions as they were written.

"I'll see you at Transfiguration then."

Astrid was waiting for him outside the Potions Lab, which was separate from the Castle. "Hey, where are the others?" Harry asked.

She was twirling locks of gold with her index. "They're in the other group today." Ah, right. Each batch of students was split up into two groups so that they'd have standard 20-man classes.

"So, what do you want to do?" Their options were limited to things that could be done in under an hour.

"Well, it's Sunday. So we could go to the River," she suggested.

He didn't need a reminder. Blaise had been moaning on the injustice of having their tests today all throughout breakfast. The way he'd done it, one would think Sunday classes were going to be a regular occurrence instead of the one-time thing that it was.

"The river," he said, nodding amicably.

_-The Magnate-_

Harry did alright in Transfiguration, he supposed, although his efforts weren't truly remarkable, unlike Charms.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter."

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry said. He was at a disadvantage, this particular Master's name escaping him at a most inopportune time.

The Master, stroking his rather distracting, signature mustache, leaned into his swivel chair. "Well, go on then. Impress me."

Harry took his time to regard the situation. The room they were in was the definition of sparse, nothing but the floor and four walls. How was he supposed to demonstrate without anything to work with? He couldn't really be expected to transfigure something in this setting especially since the Castle's internal structure was highly resistant to change.

"Sir, there's nothing to work with," Harry said.

The old man only raised his eyebrow. "This is my problem how?" he said.

Huh, so it was like that then. He could try the phoenix animation trick again, but there was a problem. Last time, Blaise had conveniently made it for him and the tree provided enough fuel that all he had to do was slow its rate of consumption. He didn't fancy his chances of simultaneously creating and maintaining a fire.

"Anytime today would be fantastic," the professor said. Harry glared at him.

Emotions and magical skill made for a dangerous combination. Things were in play before Harry's mind had caught up to his actions.

The wizard, anticipating his reaction, stood from his seat right before Harry's animation took effect.

Up-up-down went the chair, adjusting its height while it spun clockwise, half-clockwise and counterclockwise in rapid succession. The actions continued to repeat with two or three variations, following a rhythm Harry had made up in his head.

The Master, far from displeased strangely enough, continued to watch before sighing. "What a shame. Well, get out of here. I've got more students to test." Chairs and tables suddenly sprung from the sides, out of hiding, each holding a variety of knickknacks.

Harry felt his stomach sink, a bitter taste creeping into his mouth as he left, feeling he had failed somehow. He ended up getting knocked out in Dueling without much of a fight later that day.

Harry was stock still at breakfast, eyes glued onto a still facedown card where his food would normally be.

"Why don't you just open it?" Blaise asked, munching on a piece of toast and giving everything else on the table dubious looks. He had yet to recover from the reindeer incident. "It can't be that bad, right?"

"It is," Viktor said grimly from across the table. Harry had told him about the odd teacher. "He charmed a master's seat during the testing."

"Which one?" Gina asked. "Yes, Blaise, that's just marmalade, and no, Scandinavian marmalade isn't made from unicorns."

"Just checking," Blaise muttered.

Viktor uttered a single, terrifying name; one that could reduce grown students to tears by the severity with which he judged. This was fear personified. This was perfection incarnate. This was- "Rosembach."

Gina's mouth hung open. "No! The head of the Charms Department?"

Viktor nodded gravely. "The grades I got from that man were so low I failed his class in a month."

"Well, it's his first term. Surely he couldn't have done so badly that they'd kick him out right?" Gina said thoughtfully. "I mean, it's practically against the school charter to do so."

"I wouldn't be too sure," Viktor said, shaking his head. "Rosembach has clout with the Board and he's a Senior Master. Does that constitute an attack on a master though? Using a charm?"

"I'm getting expelled in my first term," Harry moaned.

Dayna chose just then to stop by for a word. "Hey Harry, we're going out for- is that your result? Oooh, let me see." She swiped it with her free hand, giving it a cursory glance before her eyes widened. "Oh! Wow!"

Wait. Wow?

Harry blinked stupidly at her reaction. "Congratulations! This is great."

"What?" Harry managed.

"Here, see for yourself," Dayna said, handing him back the card.

Harry James Potter – Results  
Theory: 1-2  
Transfiguration: 1-3  
Charms: 3-1


	6. First Term

**Chapter 6: The First Term**

_**9 September 1991**_

Bellatrix was in the presence of a god.

Even the dim lighting could not hide the glimmer of intellect that lurked behind his brown eyes. He rose to full length slowly, tall and regal with a sharp, angular face that was strikingly memorable. Green robes, the finest Britain could procure, draped his broad shoulders and flowed down along his figure in a snug fit. Atop his finely-combed, raven hair was a crown of silver and sapphire that seemed to absorb light like a black hole.

He was her god-king and she was his anointed. At the thought, Bellatrix puffed her chest out, the uniform she wore doing wonderful things to her ample bosom. A silver brooch hung from her lapel, as immaculate and polished as the day she first received it.

Lord Slytherin began as he always did, with a sly smile that left one feeling underdressed and inadequate. "My Knights," he said, voice deep and sultry, "what news do you bring?"

To Bellatrix's four, Lucius Malfoy, the First Minister of the Regime, spoke up. "My Lord, a dispatch from Pettigrew." It was only because of her Lord's presence that Bellatrix did not scowl at the cur's name. Pettigrew was a relic, one of the last that refused Knighthood!

Lord Slytherin accepted the scroll from Malfoy, scanning through it with a passive expression. "Hmm, so the Phoenix Movement is active again? This is disturbing indeed." Bellatrix huffed at the gall of those ingrates! After her Lord had mercifully spared their pathetic hides and rescued the Society from its troubles, they dared to rise up against him again?

"Rosier, Rabastan." Her brother-in-law broke rank to answer his summons; a spring of tingling pride bursting in Bella's chest. Her Lord knew of her family's utmost devotion to the cause - that was why they had been inducted into his most sacred order; that was why they were Paladins.

The three exchanged hushed words while the rest of the assembled waited quietly, patiently. If their Lord wished to keep a matter private, who were they to question? Rabastan soon returned to his brother's side. He looked deep in thought and Bella pinched her husband's arm when he made to bother him.

Rodolphus shot her an irritated look, Bellatrix replied with a withering glare. Could the fool not see he was pondering upon their Lord's orders! He did not need distractions right now.

"Behave," whispered Regulus Black, her brother, harshly as if chastising children.

"My dear Bella." She snapped to attention, walking towards her Lord.

"Yes, my Lord?" she purred.

Lord Slytherin stroked her cheek with his forefinger and she shuddered from the contact. "Prepare my Paladins, Bella. It's time we pay Nurmengard a visit."

_-The Magnate-_

"Harry?"

He couldn't believe it! He got in! Everyone had said he would of course, but talking about it was very different from actually managing it.

"Potter?"

Sweet Merlin! He got into Charms - _third_ year Charms at that! Miss Lily would be so proud!

"Potter!"

Harry turned his stupid grin towards Viktor. "Got into Charms," he said winningly. His head was light and airy, any second now he expected the floating to start. "Three-one Charms," he had to clarify.

"Anything else?"

"Oh yeah," Harry reread his card, just to make sure he remembered it right, "one-two Theory and one-three Transfiguration."

"Three classes, well done!" Viktor said, "Far better than my own results."

Gina's nose crinkled. "The only class you were ever good at was Dueling."

"Hey! Flying les-"

"That doesn't count," she rebutted quickly. "We don't get graded for filler classes like first term Flying."

"How'd you do, Zabini?" Harry asked. "Accelerated in Transfiguration I suppose?"

"Two-two Transfiguration and one-two Potions." There was a momentary lull during which a puzzled frown descended on his face. "Wait, does one-two Potions mean I skipped two terms or one term?"

"One term," Gina answered, "numbering is always based on which year and term a student normally should've taken the subject."

"That's alright. Still pretty awesome of me." Blaise turned his attention towards an open faced sandwich topped with some ham and eggs.

"What about you?" Harry asked the now seated Dayna who was helping herself to a bowl of native porridge.

"Got into Potions, same class as Blaise actually," she answered with a shrug, "normal for everything else." Watching Dayna and Blaise sit together was like observing fire and ice – their attitudes were diametric opposites.

"Have you received your schedule yet?" Viktor asked his protégé pointedly. "It should've arrived with your Placement results."

Harry rifled through his side pocket, pulling out a slightly creased parchment.

"Adjustment isn't hard if you know how to do it right," Viktor said, peering at Harry's timetable. "First thing to do is cross out any class that doesn't apply to you anymore." Harry grabbed a quill and neatly crossed out the slots of Transfiguration, Charms and Theory. "Next, you take a look at your options for accelerated classes. It should be listed behind. Now, start with subjects that have the least classes offered. These should take priority since they're a lot less flexible. Got it?"

"I think so." Harry worked on it for another five minutes and ended up looking distinctly unsatisfied with the result.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm stuck with Master Rosembach for Charms," he said, eliciting a sympathetic wince from Viktor.

"You sure?" Viktor asked, looking over his work in case Harry had missed anything. He hadn't. "That's just bad luck right there."

Harry frowned. "Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You could rearrange your schedule completely, I suppose. Start from scratch to get something workable, but I personally wouldn't. It's a huge hassle and without any assurance it'll even work out. Worth a try if you're really desperate though."

"Look on the bright side Harry," Gina said, "at least you're sure to learn something with Rosembach. He's head of Charms for a reason."

Harry sighed, letting the paper drop onto the table. "If I don't flunk his class outright, you mean."

The Italian girl's brown tresses bobbed. "There's that."

"Do you need anything else from me?" Viktor asked, standing to stretch his arms. Harry shook his head. "Alright, just make sure to drop off your choices. I'll be flying if you need me."

"As always," Gina remarked with a knowing smile.

Mentally convincing himself that a class with Master Rosembach couldn't possibly be as bad as he thought it would be, Harry made his way to the Adjustment Boxes, dozens of wooden chests with an opening slit at the top. They reminded Harry of the tip boxes that he'd seen in a muggle restaurant, only not made of glass.

He sighed again, more heavily this time, as he watched his slip disappear into Rosembach's Monday and Thursday 10:20 chest.

It was going to be a long term.

_-The Magnate-_

Later on that fine autumn, Monday morn, a decent number of students gathered on the edges of the southern lake to soak up the light. One could tell winter was encroaching with the sudden shortage of sun. A light coating of snow now covered the ground too, making the blanket which Harry and his friends now sat on indispensable.

"So why are we out here again?" Harry asked.

"Two reasons," Dayna said, counting down with her fingers, "first and most importantly, because it's almost winter."

Harry didn't follow. Sure, England had winters too, and he supposed that this far north they wouldn't be able to go outside during those dreary months, but was spending every waking hour outside really necessary?

"Trust us on this one," Astrid said. "When winter hits, you'll be glad you were out today."

"The second reason then?" Blaise asked.

"Sailing competition, ever watched one?" Dayna pointed to some ships - the same ones that had carried the students to Durmstrang – forming into a straight line. Only now, placed side-by-side, was Harry able to highlight the differences between them. For example, the _Einherjar_, whose sails now sported the fiery Valkyrie instead of the Durmstrang green and gold, was longer and narrower than the others. The edges were decorated too with round, colorful shields in the motif of the Scandinavian countries. Both features, no doubt, were tributes to its Viking history.

"Who's sailing them?" Harry squinted his eyes, but couldn't make out any movement on the decks.

"The ghosts," Dayna answered. "Didn't Herodotus tell you about while you boarded?"

"He was a bit busy lecturing us about Valkyries and Norse mythology," answered Harry dryly. "So all the ships are controlled by ghosts?"

"Oh yeah." Astrid nodded. "They make the best navigators."

"Wouldn't anybody if they'd been doing it for a few centuries?" Blaise wondered out loud.

The ships suddenly surged forward at a diagonal line, signaling the start of the race.

"Not very nice about it, are they?" Harry commented as one of the ships rammed the side of another to send it slightly off course.

"Why would they? They're dead." Dayna replied, watching intently. She cheered as the current second placer, a Greek trireme, fired its grappling hooks into the lead ship. The first hook bit into the carrack's rear while the second tore through its sails viciously. The carrack, annoyed by this, shook itself free of the hooks somehow, before turning so that its starboard side could riddle the perpetrator with cannon fire.

There was something oddly cathartic about watching the race that doubled as a running naval battle. The damage was inconsequential with magic to reverse the effects, after all.

So when a sneaky galley took the lead by using the underwater currents to bypass both the winning contestants, Harry joined in the cheering.

_-The Magnate-_

_**10 September 1991**_

Tuesday came, and with it, the official beginning of classes. Most classes that day were introductory in nature; more time spent outlining what topics would be covered than actual meaningful discussion of the subject.

Not so with Theory.

The moment their teacher stepped inside, class began in earnest. "Welcome to Magical Theory one-two. Name's Agata Rosenthal, for those who don't know," she spoke quickly, but clearly due to her excellent enunciation. "Last term, we covered factors for spell perfection. This term, we're doing interrelation and overlap of Transfiguration, Dueling and Charms."

Her hands clasped together audibly and she smiled at her students cheerily. "First lesson of the term: the four levels of magical manifestation. Does anyone have any clue what these might be? Miss Namenlos, perhaps you'd like to try?"

Namenlos was an odd surname to be carrying, though there were certainly stranger out there. It translated from German as "nameless". What was her family was involved in to deserve such a label – espionage?

"Physical, emotional, mental and conceptual, Mistress Rosenthal," she answered without hesitation.

Her voice was pleasant, but distinct. It was almost hypnotic really, listening to her speak. The rhythm, the pacing and pausing suggested she was reciting Shakespeare and not merely answering a question. Harry checked just to make sure she wasn't a Veela using allure. He could shut her words out of his mind with effortless ease, but found himself longing to listen anyway, like something life-changing was going on and he was missing it.

No, this voice didn't belong to a Veela…it belonged to a leader.

"Correct, Ms. Namelos," Rosenthal said with an approving nod. "Young, budding practitioners such as yourselves often find it difficult to understand this most crucial lesson so I shall be providing an analogy. Take for example, the Locking Charm." Her slender wand shot out in a graceful arc, conjuring an oaken door that somehow kept itself upright without any support. "It is a fairly basic piece of magic and one of the first you will be expected to learn during the course of your magical education."

With an unuttered order, the door floated a few inches into the air while revolving around its invisible axis. "This spell is also the easiest with which to demonstrate the main stages of manifestation, in my professional opinion. Now, I think I'll need some help demonstrating." She gestured to one of the boys seated near the front to stand. "Magic operates on many levels – the first of which is physical.

"_Colloportus_," Rosenthal's crisp voice sounded. The only sign of change was the cylindrical iron bar now jutting out from the door's side. The lock stile would have done the job nicely, had there been an actual doorframe that is. "As you can see, the effects here are purely physical. Now, how would the Locking Charm work an emotional level perhaps?" She recast the spell on the door and stilled its revolving such that the knob now faced her chosen tester.

The boy grabbed the knob. Then, his face, at least the side of it Harry could see, scrunched up. Hesitation, anxiety, fear – all three showed at once. It was as if turning the handle would be opening Pandora's Box. He stood there in silent deliberation, before shaking his head and stepping away from it, unable to bring himself to commit the deed.

"Well class, what have we just observed?"

"Compulsion," Harry blurted out, forgetting to raise his hand, "you used a compulsion on the doorknob."

"Yes I did." Rosenthal looked proud about that, if her beaming smile was anything to go by. "In a sense, all emotional manifestations of magic are compulsions. Keep in mind class, that not all spells can work at all the different levels. The Levitation Charm, for example, is purely conceptual...yes, Mr. Bykov?"

"Wait a second, how does a compulsion count as a Locking Charm?" Someone seated further behind Harry asked. "It didn't, well, lock the door, did it?"

"I see your point, Mr. Bykov, but the Locking Charm was developed, not to lock despite what the name says, but to deny others entry. In this, it has succeeded, wouldn't you agree?"

She recast the spell, this time displaying the mental aspect of it. Her guinea pig moved to open it once more, but the moment flesh and metal connected, his eyes glazed over. "Can you open the door?" Rosenthal asked.

"Why would I do that?" the boy asked with a frustrated scowl. He seemed to have forgotten the entire point of the experiment. "How would I even do that?"

Rosenthal cancelled the charm, satisfied. "Here, we see that the charm now acted by attacking his memory. It first removed the purpose behind his intended action, and followed up by removing his knowledge of how to even go about it, rendering him incapable."

The charm was reapplied, one final time and despite the boy's best efforts, he could not manage to turn the handle.

"Finally," Rosenthal continued to narrate, "we reach the highest manifestation, the conceptual one. Magic applied at this level has no reason, needs no reason for why it works – except that it does."

"Mistress Rosenthal," Namenlos' melodious voice began, "presumably this stage is the hardest to use, so why should we bother with it if a piece of magic works at the lower stages?"

Rosenthal vanished the door. "An excellent question, Ms. Namenlos. Would anyone care to give it a try?"

Harry bit his lip and raised his hand slowly. "Mr. Potter?"

"It's because the other three, they can be overcome without using active magic, right?" Harry half asked, half said. He gained a bit more confidence when Rosenthal urged him on. "I mean you can open a physically locked door if you have the key, compulsions can be overpowered if you have a strong enough emotion to counteract it, and memory charms can be broken by the mind. But a charm that's conceptual could only be beaten by magic."

"You've got it, Mr. Potter!" Rosenthal exclaimed. "That is exactly why our society has been built around the idea of conceptual charms!"

Later after class, when mostly everyone had left, Rosenthal called out a few words that Harry didn't quite understand.

"Good luck with Hadrian, Mr. Potter! He's expecting great things from you."

Harry entered Rosembach's half-filled classroom and heads snapped towards him. The tense glint in their eyes turned into relief at the sight of him. Harry took a moment to scan the room, counting fourteen others – far below the standard class size. A surplus of seats was available, something that the students now took advantage of as they segregated themselves into cliques despite their already low attendance.

"Out of my way!" Harry jumped to the side hurriedly, creating a path for the dour-faced professor.

Tak, Tak, Tak, went his heeled shoes, each clack resounding in the total silence. Rosembach walked past Harry curtly then turned to regard him quietly. The look of recognition, not unlike that of a child's after receiving a new toy for the holidays, made Harry queasy. "Well? Sit down."

Without delay, Harry scurried towards the closest, empty seat he could find.

"There are no tests in my class, written or practical." he began, taking sure, swift steps towards the lectern. "Instead, we have projects and applications of the basic fundamentals I shall strive to impart. There will be seven in total, one for every two weeks you last here." He tapped the pulpit, sparing it a glance as it changed into a chair. "Mr. Rinehart, can you tell me the essential characteristic of an enchantment?"

"Sir?" Rinehart was as tall as the still standing Master even from his seated position.

"Did I stutter, Mr. Rinehart?"

"No sir!" he squeaked. There was something strangely comical seeing him act like a Dementor facing a Patronus.

"Do you know the answer?"

"No sir."

An exasperated breath escaped from Rosembach's lips. "Mr. Rinehart, this is a third year class. More to the point, this is _my _third year class. It is expected that you have at least read your textbook before coming in. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

A girl located on the far side of the room sniggered – too loudly. Rosembach stroked his mustache, shifting his displeased expression towards her. "Ms. Rykov, the answer?"

The Russian stood, every inch of her screaming confidence. "Gladly, Master Rosembach. Typical traits of an enchanted as opposed to a charmed object are its lifespan, repeatability, sapience, indepen-"

"Wrong." Rykov bristled, crossing her arms defiantly. "Sit down, Ms. Rykov."

"Sir, those were the answers provided by the book!" she protested.

"You read the wrong chapter." he drawled out. "An essential characteristic means it has to be something an enchantment cannot be without – none of the things you've mentioned fit that description."

She continued, rather unwisely in Harry's opinion, to stare down the professor.

"Page 93, Ms. Rykov, the Breaching Ball developed by the German Ministry." The frantic sound of ruffling pages filled the room. "Mr. Rinehart, since we all know this is your first time, I think it's only fitting you read the description for us."

"Sir!" Rinehart's tone was now level. "The Breaching Ball is an enchanted single-use spherical object that releases upon activation a wave of spell fire. Common choices used with it are Stunners, Body-binders and Petrifiers."

Rosembach held his hand out to the side. "There you go, Ms. Rykov. An enchanted object that breaks each and every description you gave me. Sit. Down." Grudgingly, she did.

"Don't worry, Ms. Rykov. Wrong answers are expected, but should not be made a habit. You are, after all, here to learn. What I will not tolerate is disrespect." His assessing gaze swept the room, taking time to linger on each of their faces as if they were being committed to memory. "Determine the essential characteristic, homework due next meeting," he said.

Nobody complained.

_-The Magnate-_

One would've thought Dueling, of all the classes, would involve their wands at some point.

Harry stared at the...staff in his hand. Its heavy weight was unfamiliar and unwieldy, a stark contrast to the lightness of wands. He glanced around and the other students seemed equally uncomfortable. Most of them anyway. Some faces were set in grim determination and clenched muscles, as if they'd been told to fight to the death.

A fifth year girl stood behind and to the side of Professor Anya Dragovic. Dragovic herself was younger than most of the staff, the youngest probably, nearing the age of thirty from the looks of her. Lips of cherry, head of raven and most definitely the easiest on the eyes among all of their teachers so far.

"Some of you," she said, licking the dryness of her lips away, "might be wondering why you have staves in your hands instead of wands." She paused, watching a few students nod. "Let me answer that with a question then. How many of you can cast a spell?"

About three quarters of the class raised their hands.

"I mean something you could use in a duel, not a Charm, not a Transfiguration."

Two hands remained up.

"A question, Professor Dragovic," one of the owners of said hands asked. "Why exclude Charms and Transfiguration? Many competent Duelists incorporate one or both into their styles. Flitwick, Salvatore, Begnoche-"

"I understand your point, Ms. Kozlovsky, and thank you for asking." Dragovic interjected smoothly, gesturing for them to lower their hands. "What many fail to understand is that these people you mention are _masters_ of their field. It takes decades of work to get to their level, where one can make a Charm or Transfiguration work effectively in a fight." She held out a palm, a smooth grey pebble resting peacefully on it. "Take for example enlarging a rock into a wall to hide behind. How long does it normally take your average adult wizard or witch?"

Kozlovsky didn't answer right away. "A few minutes?"

"And in that time, you'd have a score of curses flying your way. For those things to work, you need to be able to cast it quickly enough, on a scale large enough to matter, while under the stress of approaching spellfire," Dragovic said. "Its not as easy as the Duelists make it out to be. For beginners like you, it's best to stick to the basics and leave the fancy tricks aside for now."

A few students alternated between staring at her and their staves.

The beginning of a grin played on Dragovic's lips. "So, back to why we have staves. First, most of you don't know any spells for Dueling to begin with, nothing that could disarm or disable or force your opponent to surrender."

"I could levitate their wand out of their reach," a student from the frontmost row answered.

"That would work out marvelously if your opponent was dimmer than a troll," Dragovic said, eliciting a few laughs. She was much laxer than Rosembach, who wouldn't tolerate a student speaking without raising their hand first. "The second reason-"

Her outstretched palm sprung into motion, quick as lightning and the pebble was soaring into the first row of students. A few tried to dodge, but the stone hit one of those who moved in the chest.

"-is that you need to be broken of your bad habits," she finished. "Blocking a spell is better than dodging a spell. Would anyone care to guess why?"

"Because some spells can follow us," someone from behind Harry said.

Dragovic tilted her head. "Sure, anyone else? No?" She let her hands fall to her side. "Spells are fast, much faster than a rock. To evade requires honed instincts, instincts that will let you react before spell has left wand." She shrugged. "That, or luck. Even if you do manage to get out of the way of one spell, a quick opponent will have another right behind it and dodging can make it even harder. Using a Shield Charm is simply better at your level."

"Dodging bad, blocking good. What does that have to do with staves though?" It was the same person from before.

"This ties up with what I said before. Most of you don't know any spells for fighting and we have to ingrain the idea of blocking, practiced to the point where it is instinctual, not afterthought. Hitting each other with these sticks ought to drive the lesson home."

"But we could hurt each other with these!"

She grinned. "Pain is a most excellent teacher. Pair up!"

_-The Magnate-_

_**18 November 1991**_

Herbology, Harry's first Monday morning class, was held in the Greenhouses. The fastest way there was via the Lesser Gate. Aside from being the smallest and narrowest gateway, it was also the only way out along the pentagonal castle's southwest wall.

He stepped outside to a different world. Dark and dreary, the sky was a perpetual expanse of purple that bathed everything in eerie twilight. Harry looked to his left where in the distance the Angren's southern arm flowed then to his right, the Potions Lab stood. It was still Durmstrang, he knew it was – but here, now, tinted by the northern hemisphere's polar night, it was easy to forget.

"_Lumos_," he murmured, calling into existence a small, but powerful light at the tip of his wand. It let off a fair bit of warmth, though it provided little reprieve from the gusts of arctic air that prickled his skin. Pulling his fur cloak tightly around his shoulders, he trudged forward, each step sinking slightly into the thick snow. The Greenhouses, enchanted to replicate summer's light and warmth, provided needed shelter to the winter-harrowed students.

Blaise waved him over when Harry entered. There was an empty seat reserved for him at the table. "_Buongiorno_," he said in a subdued voice.

"Good morning," Harry answered, looking out the window-pane. "This is the polar night we've been warned about, eh?"

He heard Blaise slump in his seat. "I hate it. I hate it so much. I miss the sun already."

"You'd best get used to it. We're stuck with this 'til Christmas, when we go back home."

Blaise sighed loudly. "I'm never complaining about English weather again."

_-The Magnate-_

_**3 December 1991**_

Harry ended the letter addressed to his brother with his name in simple print, lacking the patience to spruce his writing with fancy lettering. He spared Master Herodotus a quick glance while folding his parchment into an envelope compatible shape, speed reading through the scrawled notes for their finals, which would be held within two weeks. It was the usual – important dates and past Highmasters – stuff that nobody cared to learn. Really, how was it useful to know that the current Durmstrang was the third iteration or that Svalbard remained outside the _Nordenjord_'s authority as a result of some deal brokered between the Germans, Russians and Scandinavians?

Within the field of his periphery was Aldric, staring blankly at something to Harry's front. Harry's eyes followed his, purely out of curiosity, and ended up landing on Astrid. The charmed, overhead lanterns - which provided illumination for school during the polar nights - had an interesting effect on her blonde curls, casting it in-

Harry stretched his legs against Astrid's chair, gaining an irate glare from the Veela. "What?" she mouthed.

"Aura," he answered just as silently. Her head snapped back into place, though if one looked closely, one could catch a clue in the crimson coloring of her pale neck.

Shaking his head free of the last of the allure's tenuous hold, he refocused on the letter in his hand, the third in his correspondence so far. They didn't have Owl Service in Svalbard, apparently, because of the school's stringent security measures regarding the secrecy of its location. Instead, their letters were gathered up and shipped out – probably to some village in Norway – twice a week. From that point, it would take five days and four owls crossing as many countries before Harry's letters reached England, or so he was told.

"…and that concludes our review, I suppose." Herodotus said, taking out and glance at his silver pocket watch.

Blaise paused from his animated discussion with Gasto to look up. "Master Herodotus, does this mean we're free to go?"

Herodotus lips fell. "Er, no." Blaise took that as his cue to resume his conversation. "We have a little under half an hour of class time left. I don't think Senior Master Bujnowski would approve of leaving this early." His eyes darted to the door for a split second before they returned to the class. "Does anybody have questions? Yes, Mr. Hochberg?"

"Does it have to be about class?" Aldric asked after he set down his raised hand.

Herodotus nodded slowly. "I'll entertain it so long as it's about history."

"Why do we wizards celebrate Christmas instead of the Yuletide?" Aldric face held a disapproving frown. His voice was a touch disdainful. "Isn't it a sign of muggleborn's polluting our traditions?"

Herodotus chuckled heartily. "Oh no Mr. Hochberg, Christmas is a tradition we purebloods love."

Harry felt his brow rise as he straightened in his chair. Herodotus, despite his questionable talents at teaching, knew several books worth of history and every so often, he'd share something that was actually interesting.

"It's a funny story really. It began with Jesus of Nazareth, a particularly gifted Healer from Israel. He managed magical feats, _wandless_, a few of which we modern practitioners haven't even come close to matching! Some wizards claimed he was a deity and plenty of muggles believed them – complete nonsense in my opinion, but that's never stopped the wizards in Israel." he said with an eye roll.

"Anyway, in 1461, Raphael Genio argued wizards were inherently superior to muggles by means of the celebration as an argument. If muggles worshipped one our kind as a god, then it was clear that even they recognized magicals were a step above them. Thus, Christmas, as you know it today, is not so much a muggle tradition as it is a celebration on the superiority of the magical community."

Most of the class reacted with nonchalance though Aldric was oddly pleased with the answer for some reason.

Harry considered his letter again. It was the last he'd be sending out this term.

_Stupid courier service and their stupid delivery times. _


	7. The Christmas of '91

**Chapter 7: The Christmas of '91**

_**December 11, 1991**_

It was the slow, sad tune of star-crossed lovers and broken friendships. A sound both heartbreaking and beautiful; the soft warbling of an immortal chronicling the end of an era. It was the sound of farewell, a comforting lie that both indulged in while the moment lasted.

"This is goodbye, old friend." The old man, with his flowing white beard, stroked the feathers of the bird lovingly. Crimson head dipped to nuzzle against the man's chest. "You have served me well all these years and a better companion one could not ask for."

The phoenix's answering trill came out an octave higher, sharp and powerful and defiant. Righteous fire lit the ruffled feathers without burning the man. "Let us fight together one last time," it said without saying.

Warmth surged; not the angry intensity of a raging fire, but the heat of Hestia's homely hearth. A something stirred in his bones, a something he had not felt in many months.

Hope.

Cracked lips rose, wrinkled lines tightened and hand closed firmly against wood. "One last time," he conceded, stooping slightly to let the firebird nestle on his shoulder.

A late afternoon breeze, gentle like a sister's caress, blew past, pressing soft kisses on his well-worn face. Then, it grew stronger, fiercer until veins of hoarfrost crept on the ground. The biting cold was warded off only by the phoenix fire. The man looked on, ignoring the banshee shrieks and arctic chills that did not conceal the distinct crackle of apparition.

"Hello Tom." the man greeted with an amicable nod of the head, in complete contrast with the other's guarded stance.

"Albus!"

Blue eyes burst open, the beguilement of sleep fleeing all at once.

"Albus!" he heard again, a desperate plea.

"Gellert." Aching body protested and was ignored as he rose from his supine pose. "What is it?"

"He is coming. I can feel it." Gellert answered, voice grim and hoarse. Dumbledore chuckled. "This is no laughing matter, Albus!"

"My friend, were you hoping for a stay of execution?" Albus was the visage of calm. "I never knew you cared." he said, mirth coloring his tone.

A soft dripping from the faucet filled the silence that followed. Albus shut the tap properly and looked at himself in the mirror. Hair that used to flow gracefully had now fallen off, leaving marred skin beneath. He smiled toothily and winced at the yellow and black that usurped the bright, gleaming white of years past. His lips shut, yet remained curved upwards and he nodded, satisfied, to himself.

"Ironic, isn't it, how we both ended up here?" Albus mused.

"Quite," Gellert said. "To think that Nurmengard's final prisoners would be its own makers… Riddle has a wonderful sense of mockery, dealing with you as you dealt with me. How you allowed that upstart to wrest control of this fortress from you, I'll never know."

"Tom is an exceptionally gifted wizard." Albus said, stretching his cramped muscles. "If anyone could figure out how to do it, it would be him."

Gellert's sigh came out loud and long. "You should have just killed me then, all those years ago. Death would be a mercy compared to rotting away like this." In his mind, Albus could see his friend all bony and lean and gaunt.

Albus nodded concurringly, even if Gellert could not see the gesture. "It's always hard to see your loved ones go."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Can you ever forgive me?" Steel clanged against stone and footsteps echoed ominously. "For Arianne?"

Albus did not answer.

He was led out of his cell at wand point and subject to wary eyes. The terrifying skill of Albus Dumbledore had not been forgotten by his enemies during the interim.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Dumbledore said, his tone cheery and out of place among the grim faces and black bricks, "or is it evening already? One can never tell in Nurmengard. I blame the lack of windows."

One of the four guards stepped forward, flicking his wand. A length of metal, taking up a life of its own, wrapped itself around the wrists and ankles of the ancient wizard. Another jailor joined the first and each grabbed one end of the chains.

Albus' smile never left his face, even as they tugged at his restraints roughly, each sudden jerk causing an extra step or stumble. He turned to regard Gellert as he passed his fellow prisoner's cell.

Softly and not unkindly, he addressed him. "Goodbye, old friend."

Then he was gone, leaving Gellert nothing but the empty, echoing enclosure for companionship.

Freedom was the exhilarating euphoria elicited by the howls of wind left chasing behind, by the smooth curve of enchanted wood beneath flesh, by the triumphant clang of metal ball against metal hoop.

Freedom was Chasing.

Like a maverick wind spirit, Harry was on a rapid, downward spiral around the left most hoop's pole as he chased after the recently scored Quaffle. Leather ball was in hand in an instant and Harry sharply tugged his handle upwards, bringing the broom into a half-loop as it bulleted towards the other end of the pitch. The sudden, heavy rush of blood to his head did not perturb Harry. One could even say he was rather enjoying being upside down.

Viktor pulled up next to him, easily keeping up, and Harry twisted the handle of his Silver Arrow, sending him right-side up.

"Nice shot." Viktor nodded to him.

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning. "So, how'd you do on your exam? History right?"

"Yes. I think I did alright. It turned out to be about Eastern European History."

"Ah." Harry sounded understandingly. It would be no problem for the Bulgarian.

"How was your presentation to Master Rosembach?" Viktor asked.

Harry's lips became set in a thoughtful frown. "I charmed a table to tap out _God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs._"

Viktor's head turned briefly towards him. "What did he say?"

"Nothing, _as always_. The man's insatiable."

"Hmph! That's an understatement. What are you hoping to get for his class?"

"A 'T' would be nice." Harry said.

Viktor slowed down and Harry followed suit. "Not an 'E' then?"

Harry looked at him pointedly. "Rosembach doesn't give out 'E's."

"True. How do you think you did, overall?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Average, I guess. You?"

"My grades won't be spectacular, but I'll pass," Viktor said with a half-hearted shrug. "That's enough for my dad. He'd kill me if I ever dropped out of school. Or worse."

"Worse?" Harry tilted his head. "What could be worse than that?"

"He could ground me." Which quite literally meant being grounded – as in no flying.

Harry nodded sympathetically before steering the conversation towards more pleasant subjects. "You up for a race?"

A competitive grin twisted Viktor's lips. "You're on."

"I can't believe you're not done packing." Harry said, shooting Blaise a look of irritation even as the dark-skinned boy dumped his material possessions haphazardly into his trunk.

"Not everyone's mastered the Packing Charm!" Blaise retorted, pushing down on an insufferable set of robes that kept jutting out to the side.

"Then you shouldn't wait until the last minute to do it." Harry answered. His own corner of the room was immaculate, impossibly so if one had seen it a minute ago. "Hey Blaise," he said in English, one of the few times he had used his native tongue while in Durmstrang, "what's with him?" Keeping conversations a secret from prying ears became so much simpler when one knew a language other than the lingua franca.

Blaise turned to him, finally clasping the lid of his trunk. "Who?" Harry inclined his head towards Aldric, who was himself busy packing, though admittedly with more organization and calmness than the Italian. Harry knew for a fact he wasn't going back home for the holidays. "Oh him. Lucky bloke got himself a spot over at Riverwatch."

"The Dorms by Angren, near the Highmaster's Tower?" Harry asked. "But he's only in his second term." Shifting out of a dorm halfway through the year was unusual, especially when you paid for it for all three terms.

Blaise lifted one hand up limply, pointing to the side with palm facing up, while the other grabbed his trunk "His parents are rich enough to afford it. Ready to go?"

"I was waiting for you." Harry deadpanned, but stood. He tapped his luggage with his wand, charming it to follow after him on its wheels.

"Aldric, Gasto, you two have a good Christmas." Blaise said with a cordial nod.

Aldric paused to look up and nodded back, before returning to his work. Gasto, in his typical lackadaisical way, returned the greeting from his supine position. Harry and Blaise made their way to the Feasting Hall, the assembly point for all outbound students while the ships were prepped for voyage.

"We're taking the _Einherjar _again, right?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered. It didn't take long to reach the Feasting Hall or the ship ten minutes after that.

"What do you miss most about England?" Blaise asked while he trudged up the ramp. Harry, unhindered by his heavy, self-propelled baggage, ambled behind his friend.

"My brother," he said without hesitation. "And having my own room. You?"

"Probably sunlight." Blaise glanced at the polar skies, a bruised purple expanse that covered both sun and horizon. He answered again with more conviction, ''Definitely sunlight. Thank Merlin dark winter will be over when we get back."

"It'll be nice to have some light again," Harry agreed. "Hey Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

"You go on ahead and find the others. I'm staying on deck for a while. I want to watch the ship go out to sea."

"You sure about that?" Blaise asked, eyes flickering skyward once more. "Not much you can see in this weather."

"Positive," Harry answered, already moving towards the side of the ship.

Barely a handful of students stayed on deck, most opting to head straight to the rooms below deck upon boarding. Of those that remained, there was only one Harry recognized – a familiar head of flowing auburn locks in the same term as him, leaning against the _Einherjar'_s rails. It was only natural Harry chose to stand next to Natasha, a classmate, at the very least, in a sea of strangers.

She had her head lolled back, affording her a view of the twilight-esque sky. He chose to stare into the depths below, noticing that the playful merfolk that accompanied their arrival were missing – likely they would not show until the worst of winter had passed.

Harry did not know how long they stood side by side in silence, but it was she who broke it first. "Harry Potter?" she asked, not said, seeking confirmation. He felt her sight land on his neck for a moment, and it burned the spot red.

He did not turn to face her immediately. "Natasha Namenlos?" he mimicked her delivery; confident, but curious. "How do you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are." Natasha's eyes rolled in their sockets. "The Brit who was tested by Rosembach himself and still managed to skip two years in Charms." she said, and this time, he did look, in time to see a proffered hand. He met hers with his own, and the contact left his hand faintly tingly and pricklish.

"We share a few classes together." Harry said. "One-two Theory, under Mistress Rosenthal and one-one History and" -Harry wracked his brain, finding it oddly blank and unresponsive- "Supervised Study, on Mondays and Thursdays?" he ended weakly.

She laughed and it left him feeling faintly warm in the chest. "Three out of four isn't so bad."

"What's the fourth?"

"Flying on Wednesdays." she said, and Harry wanted to smack himself for missing the obvious. It was the class all first termers had to take, no exceptions. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You look so…at ease on a broom, it's like you were born to fly."

"I've been flying all my life," Harry admitted. Two periods every week where all they did was fly was practically heaven for him. "It's the best feeling in the world, being up in the air."

"Quidditch fan, I take it?"

"I play too." Natasha nodded as if she had expected his answer. "How come we don't have more classes together?"

"You accelerated in Charms and Transfiguration." she pointed out. "I accelerated in Dueling, Potions and Creature Studies a term each. I had to change my Herbology and Astronomy classes to make it all work."

"Oh…so…where are you headed, if not Germany?" Harry asked. It was a curious thing, seeing a German on the Scandinavian ship, one of two in the Durmstrang fleet that traversed the North Sea. The rest would take advantage of the ship's magically-induced phasing properties and cut straight into the Baltic Sea, or head further east to harbor along Russia's northern coast.

"France," she replied, looking anywhere but at him now.

"Visiting family?"

"In a manner of speaking." The curtness of her words took Harry aback. She gave him a small smile, looking apologetic. "Sorry," she mumbled, "family is kind of a sore spot for me."

_Halfblood_. The word lashed out from the shadowy corner of his mind where it had been buried. _Bastard _followed soon after, equally bitter and mocking.

_You're not my son._ he could hear his mother…stepmother…Melissa saying; accusing him of what he was – a constant reminder of his father's infidelity.

"I know how that feels." His jaw began to ache from the force of gnashing teeth. He forced himself to smile and hoped it came off as reassuring. "Don't worry, I won't pry."

"Thank you and I won't either." She paused, hesitating. "Unless you want to talk about it?"

"No offense, but we just met."

She smiled wryly. "True. I-" she stopped abruptly. Her face became an unhealthy palette of white and her eyes seemed to cut right through Harry, almost as if there was something behind him.

"Eng-lish-man." Each syllable was uttered slowly, by a voice deep, guttural and rasping, like a man drowning. Something cold grasped his pulsing heart.

Harry turned saw the ship's resident wraith, floating in all his ethereal glory. A spectral axe and shield adorned his hands, with chains on his wrists that connected to nothing. Was he a prisoner in life? The intricate design of his equipment, especially his headpiece, suggested otherwise.

The ghost peered at him through hollow eyes, judging him of something. "I-am-Jarl." he finally said.

"Er, Harry. Harry Potter," The living boy introduced himself, not quite sure how to react.

"Jarl" bobbed his head sluggishly, raising a shackled hand that gestured towards the stairs. "You-go-down-now. We-go-down-now." He looked at Harry again. "Eng-lish-man. You-un-der-stand?" he groaned out.

Harry got gist of it. The ship was about to enter into its submarine mode and all living beings that wished to continue being so had best get to cover. "Yes."

"Good. Eng-lish-man," he said, and floated back to the ship's maintop.

"We better get to our rooms." Natasha said.

"Yeah," he agreed, before it struck him. "Wait. You understood that?" Harry asked. Jarl had spoken…

"See you around, Harry." Natasha said, heading further away without dignifying his question with an answer.

…in English.

When he finally found his friends, they were all listening solemnly to Damarion translate a Norwegian newspaper.

"Hey guys." he said. Astrid and Dayna shushed him.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered to Blaise as he sat next to him.

"The Flamels were attacked by werewolves." Blaise's face was far too grim for a child.

"Perenelle Flamel is dead."

A few hours later, the ship made its second landfall for the day in England. By that time, Blaise and Harry were the few left on the ship. Their friends, along with most of the passengers, had been offloaded in Norway earlier.

"See you later, Harry." Blaise said. "Remember, we're meeting the girls on the twenty ninth at my place."

Harry waved goodbye to him and watched him side-apparate away before heading towards his own human ride.

"Anything interesting in the paper?" Harry nudged his head towards the copy of the Daily Prophet tucked beneath Sirius' armpit. Maybe the Prophet would have more information on the Flamels? Damarion's copy was rather vague about the whole issue, which was strange, because the Flamels were the closest thing to international celebrities in their world.

Being the "Oldest couple alive" and the "Owners of the only working Philosopher's Stone" was a pretty big deal, after all.

"More werewolf legislation and the usual spiel the Prophet passes for news." he said dismissively. The sagging skin beneath his eyes said otherwise, burdened by dark, round patches that weighed on his soul as much as his face. He looked up and smiled kindly at him. "You look good, Harry."

"Thanks. Any news on the Flamels?" Harry said, not letting himself get side-tracked.

Sirius' frown was heavy and loaded. "You know about that?"

"It's pretty big news internationally, Uncle Sirius."

"All it really says is that they were attacked and multiple werewolves were killed, but so was Perenelle Flamel."

Great. Equally as vague then.

_-The Magnate-_

It was a normal family dinner at the Potter household.

"Thanks for inviting me to dinner, Melissa." Joshua said with a charming smile and a hand intertwined with Lily's.

Ok, it was a normal dinner at the Potter household.

Melissa's smile had a devious glint to it. "Oh, it was only fair really. Since my husband _insisted_ on having her here, you know with her being such an integral part of Harry's education, I thought why not make a gathering out of it?"

Fine, it was dinner at the Potter household.

Joshua's smile remained, though it was hard to miss the nervousness in it as he glanced at Lily. "Why do I get the feeling there's something going on here?" he whispered as soon as Melissa had walked away.

Lily rolled her eyes. "There's always something going on when Melissa Potter is involved. Step up for front row seats to the Potter Family drama!" She sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

"Hey," Joshua said, pulling her into a hug and kissing her forehead fondly, "it'll be fine."

She smiled and led him to the dining room's long table. Harry was to Lily's left and Joshua her right. Mirroring them from across table were Melissa, James – looking even more uncomfortable then Lily felt - and Robert.

Lily had to hand it to Melissa. The seating arrangement was subtle ("Oh, Harry, you don't mind sitting next to Ms. Lily do you? Just to balance the table?"), for her anyways. The woman knew how to drive a point hard without saying anything.

_He's not my son_, loud and clear to those in the know. Unfortunately, he was in the know.

Lily glanced at Harry worriedly. He was drawing lazy circles in his plate, not really touching his food. If he stared any harder, holes might start appearing in the china.

Melissa asked him how he liked Durmstrang, sounding more polite than concerned, and Harry replied with a curt "Fine" even as he scowled sullenly into the glassware.

He got the message too.

_-The Magnate-_

"So Harry," James began conversationally, "made any new friends at school?" He winced as his son impaled a chicken strip on his fork, violently.

Why was he so mad?

"A few." Harry answered, terse and tense.

"Oh." was James' brilliant follow up.

"Anyone interesting?" Robert asked, oblivious to the tension as eager - almost rabid - curiosity colored his tone.

Harry, for what must have been the first time that evening, grinned. James couldn't for the life of him remember when he had last seen it, certainly not since Harry came back.

"There's Blaise, of course." Harry said to Robert, pointedly ignoring everyone else.

"Oh, I remember him!"

Harry nodded before continuing. "Then on the way to Durmstrang, we had to take a ship to get there, we met Astrid, Damarion and Dayna." he said.

"They're from Norway right? You wrote about them in your letter."

"Yup! Then there's Viktor from Bulgaria, he's my mentor."

"What's a mentor?"

"An older student that helps a younger student."

"Like a big brother?"

"Exactly like a big brother."

Robert's grin grew wider. "Cool!"

"Viktor flies too. You should see him practice! He'll go pro when he graduates for sure!" Harry gushed in the excited way he did when talking about Quidditch.

"What does he play?"

"Seeker, one of the best I've ever seen. He could probably beat me with one hand behind his back. Oh, and his friend, Gina! She's Blaise's mentor from Italy. And…" Harry bit his lip.

"And?" Robert prodded.

"Well, there's this girl I met on the ship back. We talked for a while, but I don't know if we're friends."

"So what's the most interesting thing about Durmstrang?"

Harry didn't answer immediately as a pensive looked crossed his face. "The people you meet. You've got students from all these places and you realize just how different their culture can be."

"How?"

"Well, their food for one-"

"Harry, you haven't touched your food at all." Melissa interjected.

"Not hungry," he answered.

She sighed. "Well, if you aren't going to eat it, I might as well clean up now." Harry had already returned to his tale, gesturing animatedly with his hands to an enthralled Robert.

"Hey luv," James heard Joshua say to Lily, "I'm just going out to get some air."

"Don't forget your coat," she said. James felt a hand squeeze his heart, just as Lily squeezed Joshua's arm.

"I'll just be for a while."

"It's a chilly December this year. I don't want you catching a cold and giving it to Katie."

"Fine…" he drawled out playfully.

James looked at his sons, still deep in conversation, and at Lily, watching them fondly, before standing up. "I think I could do with a bit of air too." he stated out loud to nobody in particular. It hurt more than he'd ever admit that no one acknowledged him.

Lily was right. It was a few degrees above freezing outside and without a jacket, the wind was torturous to endure, even under the light cover the patio provided.

"Oh, hey James," Joshua said, a white roll of paper sticking out of his mouth. "Want one? They'll warm you up in a jiffy." He offered him a packet filled with magical cigarettes.

James picked one with green colored tipping paper instead of the normal orange. "Don't these things give you cancer?" he asked, popping it into his mouth anyway. It lit up on its own and he sucked in hard, relishing as heat surged through his being. It was a feeling not unlike a scalding hot shower.

"The muggle ones do." Joshua took a long drag of his smoke then puffed out circles of them. "These are perfectly healthy. Don't even leave a trace of that awful lingering smell afterwards. Uh…don't tell Lily though." he pleaded. "She hates them."

"She won't hear it from me." James promised. "So…how long have you two been together?"

"Been over a year now."

James whistled. "That's quite a while. How did you two meet?"

"It was actually at one of the kids' Quidditch games. My daughter was the captain of Harry's team then. Katie Bell, he's mentioned her?"

"Yeah, I think he has." The name sounded familiar at least. "Do you love her?" he blurted out before adding, "Er, sorry if I'm prying, but Lily and I go way back. She's always been the independent type. It'd put me at ease if I knew someone was looking out for her."

Joshua chuckled. "It's alright. She…she makes me want to be a better person, y'know?" James did know. Joshua paused, taking another long drag. "I think I could love her." Another pause. "Do you?"

James frowned. "Do I what?"

"Love her. Still, I mean." Joshua gave him a knowing look. "You used to be together, back in the day."

"You knew?"

"I asked around." Joshua shrugged. "Not like it was a big secret."

"Back then I did. Now…I don't really know anymore." James sighed, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. "We fell apart with time and things got…complicated."

"Where did it go wrong, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It wasn't any one thing," he said sagely, "but if I had to pick one, I'd say it was choosing not to get married."

"How come you didn't anyway?" Joshua asked. "Not that I'm complaining," he added with a grin.

James laughed. It was warm and genuine. It felt good to laugh like that again, for however brief, before solemn reality crashed back into him. "You remember how it was, the chaos and the killings the Death Eaters inflicted. People were dropping left and right, and at the time, we thought that if we didn't make it official, it would hurt less if one of us passed."

He pulled out the smoke from his mouth and smothered it against a wooden beam that held up the patio's ceiling. Ironically, instead of dying out, it lit up even brighter and the entire thing was swallowed by flames, leaving no trace behind. James continued, "Ironic that it drove us further apart in the end."

"Lord Slytherin's Purity Protocols," Joshua said in realization.

"Yeah, those," James confirmed. "Preserve the dying pureblood lines and all that rot. I got myself roped into marriage with Melissa because of it. The Ministry would hardly consider her as fit at that point, typical blood purists. So, Lily wanted to run, go abroad and I couldn't go through with it." He looked up at the moon, marveling at how it curved in the sky perfectly. "England is home. England will always be home. After I told her that…it went downhill pretty fast."

They stood there in contemplative silence, reminiscing the past for a while. "Harry's her son, isn't he?"

James's head snapped like a whip. "She told you?"

Joshua snorted. "No, but she doesn't hide it quite as well as she thinks."

"And you're fine with that?"

"She took in my daughter like her own, gave Katie a mother to look up to. I don't think it'd be fair for me to be anything but fine with Harry." Joshua said. "What happened next?"

"When I wouldn't run, we fought over Harry and...I made a deal with the Ministry. I'd get to keep him if I signed the Protocols, so I did. Got paraded around for that too – the famous 'Sixty-Sixth Signatory'," James said sarcastically. "Any chance Lily and I had after that vanished. Not after that kind of betrayal."

"Do you regret signing it?"

"Every day of my life." James gave him a long, hard look. "But I'd do it again just to keep my son."

_-The Magnate-_

_**29 December 1991**_

Lily frowned at her student, hunched over an assortment of books and reading voraciously. "You realize it's Christmas break, right? What are you working so hard on?"

"The Courier Service in Durmstrang takes too long to get here." Harry answered, never once lifting his head. "I'm looking for a faster way. Besides, I'm not spending all my time working. I'm going to visit Blaise in a few minutes for the celebration."

A bitter something crept into Lily's mouth. Today was _that _day – the celebration of the Dark Lord's total victory.

"I take it they don't have Floo?" she asked.

"Only for the masters. Or emergencies."

"What about a pair of Two-way Mirrors?" Lily asked. "Would those work?"

Harry looked up this time and he was frowning. "Aren't those expensive?"

"Maybe your father has a set lying around?"

At the mention of the 'f' word, Harry clamped up, looking like he had swallowed something fairly unpleasant.

Lily wasn't James Potter's biggest fan, but she had hoped Harry would've gotten over Vienna by now. It wasn't healthy to dwell over such things, not for a boy his age. "Still not talking to him?"

"I talked to him at dinner." Harry retorted, a little snappily.

"Monosyllabic answers such as 'Yes', 'No', 'A few' and 'Fine' hardly count as talking."

He crossed his arms and looked away. "I _hate_ him." he spat out with a vehemence Lily didn't know existed in him, and it only made her worry more. "Him and that, _that _woman!"

"Melissa?"

"No." Harry said, shaking his head, hands curled into rage-filled fists. "The woman he slept with to have me!" An ugly, hateful mask now latched onto his face.

Lily's mouth went dry. "Your mum?"

"She's NOT my mother!" he hissed. "I don't know her. I never even met her! What kind of mother abandons her son and never even checks up on him!"

"You don't mean that," she said in a small voice, feeling faint. She swallowed thickly, but it did little to ease the choking constraint wrapping her throat.

"I hate her!" Harry repeated, each word a physical blow to Lily. A minute passed in silence. "I'm sorry for yelling at you like that, Miss Lily. It's not your fault."

_But it is_.

"Anyway, I should go change now. I'm meeting with my friends at Blaise's house in an hour. After that we're going to Hogsmeade for the March."

She struggled to put on a smile. "Enjoy the March."

Harry nodded. "Bye, Miss Lily!"

_He hates me._

_-The Magnate-_

"Your grades arrive yet?" Blaise asked.

"Arrived yesterday," Harry said. "It was a lot better than I expected."

"What'd you get?" Daphne asked, wrapping her silk scarf, a startling emerald that made her eyes pop, around her neck.

"Two E's, four T's and three P's."

"I told you you had nothing to worry about," Blaise said. "Let me guess, you got Exceptional for Theory and Flying, Promising for Herbology, Astronomy and History, Talented for everything else?"

Harry nodded. "How about you? Failed any of your classes?"

Blaise scoffed. "Harry, it's me we're talking about."

"He makes it sound like he got perfect scores in every subject," Daphne stage-whispered to Lavender, a grin playing on her lips.

"I almost managed it," Blaise said. "I got E's or T's in everything except Dueling. And that doesn't count."

"So you're good at every subject except those you aren't." Daphne nodded. "Makes perfect sense."

Blaise stuck his tongue out at her.

"Why is it called Duelling? I thought Durmstrang taught the Dark Arts like Hogwarts does?" Lavender asked.

"I don't really know," Blaise said, his brows coming together. "Any ideas, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "We haven't really done that much wand work in the class. Mistress Dragovic's been drilling us all term long."

"Drilling?" Lavender repeated.

"We hit each other with sticks," Harry said.

"_Heavy_ sticks," Blaise said meaningfully. "Those bloody things hurt."

"What for?"

"Some nonsense about teaching us shielding instincts," Blaise grumbled, before turning to the girls. "Say, does Hogwarts have anything like the Veto?"

"The Veto?" Lavender repeated.

"It's when someone fails a class thrice and gets kicked out," Blaise said.

"Well, more like the Master has a choice of not letting them back in. Usually they do practice the Veto though."

"That's a bit…harsh." Lavender said with a frown. She turned to her fellow blonde. "Does anybody in Hogwarts actually get kicked out of a class before the NEWTs classes in sixth year?"

"Not that I know of," Daphne answered. Then, she smirked. "At least, not any purebloods I know of. I've heard of mudbloods," –Harry raised a brow here; Daphne had never used that word in the past, not during polite conversation at least- "and halfbloods. You know, those less magical than us." she said with careless ease.

Harry bit his cheek, remaining quiet as his friends began to talk about the Victory Parade to be held at Diagon later today. _Calm down, Potter. They don't know. _But that thought didn't do much to soothe his nerves. Would they treat him the same way if they knew? Just a few months in Hogwarts had made Daphne prejudiced, more so than he remembered at least.

The thought of them not knowing something so big in his life…it felt odd.

But somehow, the thought of them knowing was far worse.

_-The Magnate-_

Amber liquid sloshed in the glass even as Lily poured it down her throat, raising her body temperature by several degrees.

"Another."

The barkeep, whose most prominent feature was his trimmed, white beard, poured her another glass without blinking.

"Anothe'," she slurred, not five seconds later. Her head was beginning to swim as thoughts became less coherent, but those words still echoed in her head, refusing to leave her alone. "Another," she repeated, more sharply, when the barkeep did not respond immediately.

"That's your fourth one in five minutes." the man grunted, grudgingly filling her glass with the liquefied essence of fire. He placed a bowl of peanuts on the table and pushed it towards her. "At least eat something. I don't need you blacking out in my pub."

Lily didn't respond verbally, but she didn't down her glass in one go either, so at least she was improving. She cradled her firewhiskey, still half full, in one hand and popped a few of the brown, salted nuts into her mouth.

The bar was pretty deserted for a weekend, and what few patrons remained left once the noise outside began to pick up, signaling that the Victory Parade was starting. The Hogsmeade one was smaller than the one over at Diagon Alley, but it still managed to gather a decent crowd to it every year.

"Aberforth!" someone shouted, storming in. The noise made Lily's head hurt. "Aberforth, we've found him! I-who is this?"

The barkeep, 'Aberforth', shrugged nonchalantly. "Someone who needs to make better life choices."

Lily chugged the rest of her drink, face contorting slightly at the taste, before glaring at him. "Anothe'," she said, putting on an air of drunken defiance. He complied, smiling benignly.

"Sir," the man growled, "we don't have time for this. Kick the girl out and we can get this underway."

"Are you kidding? She's the best business I had all day. I'm milking this cow for all she's worth." Aberforth said. "Get it over with. We can deal with her later."

"That isn't protocol!"

"Don't lecture me about protocol." Aberforth said, drawing himself to full height and staring down the man imperiously. "I wrote the damn code. I know what I'm doing."

"But sir!"

"She's sloshed and she isn't a sympathizer." the barkeep said. "A muggleborn like Lily Evans won't blab."

Lily's eyelids, which had been slowly dropping, sprang back up. "Lily?" the man said her name. The voice was familiar. "Evans, is that you?"

Lily turned around. She didn't expect to find Sirius Black, of all people. "Sirius, wha'cha doin' here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I'm drinkin' 'way my problems!" she exclaimed, raising her glass in a toast. "You?"

Sirius glanced at something behind Lily then nodded somberly. "Oh, you know, just taking part in clandestine pub meetings, plotting to overthrow the Regime. All the good stuff."

Something hit her in the back and sudden clarity washed over her. Then the pain hit.

"Merlin!" she moaned, grasping her head and blinking blearily at Sirius. Sobriety Charm, that's what they used on her. She shifted her sight from Sirius to Aberforth, and back again. "You're joking right?" she asked as she remembered his words.

"No Evans, he's not joking." Aberforth said. He looked completely relaxed with his mahogany wand in hand.

"How would you like to be part of the Phoenix Movement?"

_-The Magnate-_

It brought Tom no small level of delight, seeing His mentor and nemesis shackled and kneeling, a common criminal. Albus Dumbledore, the once greatest sorcerer of the world was now His caged bird!

"You are a poor host. Nine years it's been and you have visited not once." Dumbledore began.

"I've been busy." Tom said, not at all apologetic. A low chuckle escaped his lips and Dumbledore looked up at him with that insufferable twinkle in his eye.

"My, my, Dumbledore, the years have been kind to you." Tom said, eyeing his tattered, grimy robes.

Dumbledore's unwavering calm held fast, unarmed as he was before the most dangerous man in Europe. "Not as kind as it has been to you, Tom, but thank you."

Tom's hand lingered by His wand, but He quashed the surge of anger at the sound of His _muggle_-given name. "No one has called me by that name in many years, Dumbledore. I daresay you are the only man alive who continues to."

Dumbledore tilted his head. "What a shame that is too. Tom is a simple, splendid name; rolls off the tongue far smoother than Lord Voldemort."

"For most, 'My Lord' is enough." Tom answered, rising from his chair and circling around Dumbledore with predatory gait. "It's a touch more dignified, don't you agree?"

"As much as I enjoy speaking with you, _Tom_," –anger returned tenfold, and Tom's wand, a curious thing of elder wood, twitched to strike down its former master- "but, I'm sure you brought me here for some purpose, yes?"

"Just savoring my victory over you." Tom breathed, deep and long, as if taking in some pleasant aroma and not to soothe His nerves. "Ah, change is in the air! With each passing day, the pure grow in number."

"It's never been about purity for you," Dumbledore said, "or you would have wiped out all the muggleborns."

"What point is there to ruling, if there's no one to rule? It's always been about power. And dominance." Tom chortled. "All of Britain serves me, the world fears my name and I am just getting started!"

Steel clattered against stone as Dumbledore shifted his weight. "Humor an old man's curiosity. What's next on the agenda? France? Spain?"

Tom ended His stride directly in front of Dumbledore, and He squatted to look him in the eye. "You think too small, as always. Why stop there when I can take Europe by storm? For the first time in history, the world shall be under one banner – mine!" Tom laughed, loud and manic this time. "Who better to lead the world than a god?"

Dumbledore snorted. "You are no god."

"Maybe not, but I'm the closest thing to one. Powerful, perfect-"

"Immortal." Dumbledore interjected, and Tom smiled.

"That too." He agreed, standing tall and proud in contrast to His companion's low and humble form.

"You've kept your looks." Dumbledore said. "I take it you never went past three?" Three of what didn't have to be spoken aloud. Both knew what was being alluded to – Horcruxes, soul mementos magically made through monstrous murder. The existence of one ensured immortality at the expense of humanity, a price only the most prideful lot would pay willingly.

Seeing Tom Riddle now – His smooth, unblemished, skin and His dark, piercing eyes - inhuman would be the farthest thought from a spectator's mind, but people often forgot one crucial fact:

There's nothing further from humanity than perfection.

"Ah, so you've noticed!" Tom said, pleased. "I thought about it and I've realized there's really no point to making so many vessels when three can do the job of seven."

"And I'm sure three being the most stable magical number had nothing to do with it."

"It was a bonus." Tom's hand stroked His own face, not a single defect diminishing its beauty. He was the epitome of perfection. "Besides, it's so much easier for people to follow a handsome man. It's made pacification an almost pleasant experience."

Dumbledore shifted again, causing the chains to rattle. "What did you expect, Tom? Wherever there is evil and tyranny, good people will stand against."

"More like scurrying in the shadows like rats." Tom hissed. "There is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seize it!" He recited His well-worn mantra.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "As always, I beg to disagree."

Tom peered at Dumbledore with disgust. "I'll never understand you," He confessed. "You had everything before you – power, prestige, glory. The world was ready to follow your lead into the future, and you threw it away! For what? To teach school children how to count to ten?"

"Many would argue magic is a good deal more complex than basic arithmetical operations." Dumbledore answered cheekily.

Tom shook His head. "The world is about to be reborn in my image, Dumbledore. I suppose I have to thank you for throwing away your opportunity so that I could have mine." He pointed to the door and its metal bar unlatched while the protective enchantments on it were lifted.

"Guards, take him back to his cell."

_-The Magnate-_

The sound of creaking doors woke Gellert up.

"I'm back, old friend!" he heard Dumbledore shout, and he let out a breath he had been holding for who knows how long. "It turns out he was merely interested in a chat."

"What? Is he getting lonely is his old age?" Gellert asked, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"Might be." There was a pause and the sound of shutting doors resounded loudly. "_Hören_?"

Gellert paused. He had not heard Albus say that word in many years. At first he thought his ears were playing tricks on him, but it came again – whispered, desperate. "_Hören_?"

It was a codeword from their younger days, one of the few German words Albus had ever deigned to learn. Literally translated to "hear", but it held a different meaning for the pair. "_Is anyone listening?" _was what it meant.

"_Nein_." Gellert answered, when he could no longer sense the guards' presence. "What are you up to, Albus?"

"What I should have been doing since I got here, Gellert. Escape."

Eyes grew wider, hands gripped iron bars tensely, and his entire body became rigid. Gellert felt like lightning had just struck him. Escape…it was a thought that he had entertained over the years.

"Impossible." was the first word that left his lips.

What he didn't expect was for Dumbledore to laugh. "That is a word you have never uttered before. What was it you used to say? 'There are no limits to Magic, but those placed by feeble men.'"

Gellert huffed. "I know these walls, Albus. I built them! There is no escape from Nurmengard."

"Even with help?"

"What?"

"Tom has made a mistake, visiting me. His men, they are not as loyal as he believes." Dumbledore's voice lost it merry tone and he spoke now in one of complete seriousness. "Again, I ask, can it be done?"

A rush of memories flooded into his mind as he reevaluated and discarded all of the plans he'd made over the years. Nurmengard's layout, the rotation of guards, mealtimes, protective enchantments, traps – none were spared from consideration.

Finally, he answered.

"Yes." A feral smile played on his lips.

"Excellent." Dumbledore said and he could imagine his friend smiling, just as rabidly.


	8. The Nurmengard Escape

**Chapter 8: The Nurmengard Escape**

_**29 December 1991**_

"_How would you like to be part of the Phoenix Movement?"_

Lily glanced at his drawn wand then arched a brow at Aberforth. "Do I have a choice?"

"Oh this?" The barkeep glanced at his wand. "This is just a...precaution. Nothing personal, Evans, but we like our secrecy. Wouldn't be much of a secret group if everyone knew now, would it?"

"I suppose," Lily conceded, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"Is this really necessary, sir?" she heard Sirius ask from behind.

"First you talk my ear off for ignoring the code, now you want to ease up on protocol. Would you make up your bloody mind, Black?" Aberforth turned his attentions back to Lily. "This isn't a conversation to have out in the open. Let's take this to the cellars."

"So you can silence me away from prying eyes?" she asked with an arched brow. "Forgive me if I prefer the current scenery."

Sirius chuckled. "What prying eyes?" Lily imagined him sweeping his arms outwards, gesturing to the empty bar.

Aberforth rolled his eyes. "'Oh, Auror sir, this _mudblood _came into my bar and scared out my customers!'"

Lily's forehead creased and her mouth opened just a tad.

"That's what the Aurors will be hearing when they catch us. Who do you think they'll believe, you or me?"

"You were a member of the Order too!" Lily said.

"Aye, but I kept my head down afterwards. Didn't stir up a fuss, unlike you."

A retort was forming on her lips before she shut them firmly. He wasn't wrong.

"Let me put it this way, Evans," Aberforth added after a moment's quiet, "you can come with us, hear out what we have to say. Worst thing we'll do is we wipe your memory of this and throw you out. Your other option is a _pleasant_ stay with the Ministry dogs."

Both options were bad. In the end, it boiled down to the lesser evil. Something possibly disagreeable over something positively disagreeable. "Lead on then," she said, inclining her head to the side.

"Sirius, show her the way. Got to close up here." He swished his wand about, unleashing invisible hands which wiped tables clean, stacked upturned chairs upon them and locked both window and door alike.

"Yes sir," Sirius said, walking behind the counter and heaving the hatch to what looked like the underground cellars. With a hand, he gestured for Lily to follow, even as the lights dimmed behind him. Below, Lily saw tongues of flame come to life, illuminating the descending spiral staircase.

"So what exactly is the Phoenix Movement?" she asked as they made their way through the winding stairs.

Sirius spared her a glance from over his shoulder, but continued his descent. "Do you remember the final days of the Order, Lily?"

"How could I forget?" With Albus Dumbledore's death at the hands of Voldemort, the organization was paralyzed with doubt and distrust, allowing the Dark Lord to dismantle them piecemeal..

"Without Albus Dumbledore, resistance against the regime was, is impossible."

"What about this?"

"This?" Sirius snorted. "This is nothing. Even if we kept at it for ten lifetimes and we wouldn't change a thing. It's been nearly a decade since Dumbledore lost and people...people are losing hope." Sirius shook his head. The distinct pop of fireworks was faintly heard despite their soundproofed and underground location. "We need a figure to rally behind, someone who actually stands a chance against Voldemort; someone who can match him spell for spell. We need Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore's dead."

Sirius smiled at her, one she was familiar with from their Hogwarts days. "I know something you don't" it conveyed.

"He's dead," she repeated, "…isn't he?" Her heart throbbed faster, _fiercer_ at the thought.

"Dead, Evans?" Lily turned around and saw Aberforth, the wand still visible though in a looser grip now. "That would've been a mercy for him, the _Next Great Adventure_ and all that rot."

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"Languishing in prison." He raised his right hand to stave off her next words. "As for your other question, we're simply a group that wants to see him freed. Right bastard that he was, can't deny we need him" Aberforth gave her a look. "You going to help us, or you going to keep getting pissed on alcohol whining about the Ministry?"

What did she have to lose? She survived now, just barely, at the whims of Potter. Society as a whole branded her subpar simply because of the instances of her _birth_.

She nodded curtly, which came out more like an awkward jerking motion. "Count me in."

"Good." Aberforth nodded, as if expecting the answer already. "Sirius, the others?"

"They'll be here in a few minutes, sir," the dog animagus answered.

"In that case, Evans, anything to drink while we wait?" The barkeep snapped his fingers. "I know just the thing for you," he said, before Lily could say she didn't want any.

A glass of some transparent liquid was in her hand not a moment later. It was unlike any alcoholic beverage she had seen before. She tipped the glass carefully, pouring just a tad of it into her mouth to get a feel of how strong it was.

It didn't burn at all. In fact, it tasted like-

"Isn't this water?" she blurted out.

"From France," Aberforth said meaningfully. "The fancy, smug kind they put in these bottles and sell at exorbitant prices." She blinked and took a longer sip this time. "What? Did you think I'd give you more firewhiskey or something? You had enough to make a half-giant drunk and then some. Let it never be said Aberforth Dumbledore was an enabler of alcoholism."

"You're a barkeep," Lily said. "It's quite literally your job description."

"That's different," he insisted, waving his hand, "I make them pay through the nose for that."

"How long have you been planning to recruit me?"

"What makes you think it was planned?"

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "The timing of it all, it's far too convenient. You recruit me on the night you're holding a meeting?"

Aberforth shrugged. "Been considering you for a few weeks now. Would've preferred waiting a few more days before asking, but you're here now, so might as well get it over with. I figure we're going to need someone decent at Charms to break my brother out. Another wand in a fight never hurts too."

"I-"

"Ah, Dung!" Aberforth said. "Good to see you. And you brought your friend too."

"Evenin' Aberforth," Dung greeted gruffly. Lily turned around, sharing a nod with the balding Mundungus Fletcher. His eyes were constantly moving, a hint of greed behind them as they assessed everything in sight, as if he was an insurance agent valuing your home.

Next to him was a dark-skinned wizard with a no-nonsense look to him. A scar ran down across his cheek, framing his face in a grim light. It was caused by dark magic, probably; a scar made from more mundane methods would've been easily healed.

She spotted as well the brown hair of Emmeline Vance besides a young witch with a head of garish purple. "Lily? Lily Evans is that you?" Emmeline asked.

"Emmeline," Lily greeted evenly, approaching the pair.

"It's been far too long dear! I haven't seen you since…"

_Since Mad Eye's funeral_.

"Anywho, you remember Ted and Andromeda?" She waited for Lily to nod politely, before continuing. "This is their daughter, Dora Tonks."

Tonks extended a hand towards Lily. "Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Evans. Just call me Tonks."

Lily frowned as she shook her hand. "It's just Miss, actually."

Tonks' face flushed, something only exaggerated by her hair turning Weasley ginger.

_A Metamorphmagus_.

"Er, sorry, I'm not, I didn't mean to imply you were _old _or anything, it's just, you know, I mean-"

"I look the age?" Lily cut in, not unkindly. Tonks nodded, an abashed smile on her lips as her hair returned to eye-catching purple.

"Don't hold it against the girl," Emmeline said. "Why, when we were her age, we thought everyone above thirty was married!"

"Her age?" Lily said before turning to face Tonks. "Just how old are you?"

"Oh, uh I turned eighteen last May."

"Eighteen?" Lily repeated incredulously. "How'd you get involved in this sort of business?"

"Oh, Cousin Sirius-"

"Nymphadora!"

Tonks scowled. "Speak of the mutt…"

"Don't be like that, Nymphadora," Sirius said, grinning devilishly. "You should be proud of your name!"

"It's a mouth full. Just saying it leaves me breathless," she said in a flat tone, "and it doesn't even mean anything!"

"Categorically false! It means gift of the nymphs." He was quite pleased with himself, if his smug expression was anything to go by. "I looked it up."

Tonks turned her eyes to the heavens, letting out an exaggerated breath. "You have far too much time on your hands."

"I simply make time, Cuz."

"Why are we holding the meeting in the cellars anyway? Or in Hogsmeade for that matter?" Lily asked. The town was swarming with Aurors, Hit Wizards and Knights right now as they kept the Triumphant March safe.

"Uh, free drinks?" Tonks suggested, eyeing the bottle of butterbeer in Sirius' hands.

"Partly," Sirius said. "The cellars have all sorts of enchantments over them to keep someone from slipping poison into brews and blowing the place to high hell and any number of sabotage attempts. Just so happens that these same enchantments keep us safe from any prying ears and eyes too."

Lily frowned. "We could set those up anywhere. It wouldn't even be that much trouble for me or Emmeline."

"But the genius of it is that these enchantments are _Ministry approved_. They're expecting them to be in place. They won't think twice about it, hence less risk of someone coming to investigate."

"That's...actually clever." Lily said.

"Lily, please." Sirius huffed. "Making mischief away from the prying eyes of authority is my specialty."

"Er, Sirius, who's that next to Dung?" Tonks asked, tilting her head slightly towards the dark-skinned man.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Sirius said without looking, "a sell-wand who's none too happy with how the Ministry's treated his family the last few years."

"Shacklebolt...that's a pureblood family, isn't it?" Emmeline asked.

"Not one of the Sixty Six though," Sirius said. "They were practically run out of the country a few years back - as close to unofficial exile as you could get."

The sound of the cellar door swishing open and slamming shut reached their ears. "Finally here. Took him long enough." Sirius said, downing the last of his drink..

Lily turned her eyes towards the staircase. The last arrival looked similar to Sirius, except his hair was tamer and his robes a richer black, giving him a formal look. He struck Lily as familiar.

A second later, her mind made the connection.

"_Him?!_" Her glass of water shattered as it hit the floor, soaking the stone. "Of all the people in the world, you let him in?"

Regulus Arcturus Black.

In an instant, her wand was out. He was faster though.

"Put the wand down Lily. Let's not do anything rash." Sirius said, before hastily adding, "You too, Regulus."

Lily continued to glower at Regulus while he watched her cautiously. Slowly though, both did as ordered.

"How can you trust him? He's a Paladin! For God's sake, he's one of their leaders! Him and his bitch sister!"

"My brother's has been with us for years," Sirius said, returning to his seat and rather unfazed by the whole matter. "He's our best informant."

"I'm your only informant," Regulus said.

"Would you two put your wands away?" Aberforth said. "I have better things to do with my night than play referee to your duel."

"Ladies first," Regulus said, smiling in a way that showed his glistening teeth. It took all of her willpower not to curse him then and there. .

Reluctantly, she placed her wand out of sight, and Regulus mirrored her actions, his expression morphing into relief.

"Why're we 'ere, sir?" Mundungus was the first to speak up.

"Albus Dumbledore, we've found him." Regulus answered for Aberforth. "He's in Nurmengard."

"Uh, I'm sorry, but I could've sworn you said Nurmengard just now," Tonks said, her hair changing from purple to chestnut brown, a hue that looked far more natural on the girl.

"Are you pullin 'un over us, Regulus?" Dung asked. "Nurmengard ain't been seen by anybody fer years. 'Ow the bloody hell did you?"

"Why is this such a surprise? We knew he had control over that prison for months now," Regulus said.

"Well someone," -Dung glared at Aberforth- "didn't share the bloody news."

"Wasn't important at the time," Aberforth said, before turning to Regulus. "How did it happen?"

"The Dark Lord called for a meeting. It was not entirely unexpected, to be honest, with how the Triumph was approaching. A lot of effort is expended to make sure things run smoothly, but it turned out he was in a…retrospective mood."

"Get to the bloody point."

"Hush now, Dung. I find his tale rather enthralling," Emmeline said and Dung crossed his arms. "Do continue, Regulus."

The Black nodded his thanks. "I shan't bore you with the details of what went on for it was mostly administrative matters. The highlight of it was when he ordered the Paladins to assemble. It was only when we were in front of the prison that we realized where we were."

"Any guards? Defenses?" Sirius prodded.

"The Dark Lord...he had creatures manning the fortress, strange beings no taller four feet, with skin as grey as the stones they watched. They regarded the Dark Lord with a certain...reverence, almost as if he were a deity of theirs."

"Great, more allies for the Dark Lord!" Lily said, glaring at Regulus. "As if we didn't have to deal with _enough _of those."

It was enough to give Regulus pause.

"Anything else, Regulus? Anything of importance?" Aberforth asked.

"Grindelwald was there too. His cells were near Dumbledore's."

"Grindelwald? Gellert Grindelwald?" Dung asked. "Fer fuck's sake, does anybody stay dead anymore these days?"

"Did you get a chance to speak with him?" Sirius asked. "With Dumbledore, I mean."

Regulus nodded. "Not speak, per se, but we did communicate somewhat. I used Legillimency, a branch of the mind arts," he explained for those unaware of the obscure magic, "on him. I managed to tell him of the Phoenix Movement, of how we've been looking for him. He said, well _thought_ to me that it was high time he got out of Nurmengard."

"How?" Shacklebolt asked, speaking for the first time. "Easy to say such things, much harder to do."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Kingsley on this," Emmeline said. "Nurmengard was Grindelwald's personal fortress, and he was a genius on par with Dumbledore. Breaking someone out will not be easy."

"Easy? Try bloody fuckin' impossible!" Dung said.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Regulus said.

"Er, why?" Tonks asked.

"Dumbledore said to meet him by the bridge. He implied he had a means of reaching that far without our assistance."

"Bridge?" Tonks blinked, looking around. "What bridge?"

"Nurmengard's bridge," answered Dung. "There's a chasm 'tween the prison and the lands around, see. A waterfall, two to three hundred meters, making for a nasty drop. Flying across the thing ain't possible either, with enchanted winds as strong as any gale blowin' over it. That's not the hard part either."

"What do you mean, Dung?" Emmeline asked.

"Nurmengard's in Switzerland," Regulus supplied.

"Shit!" Lily said.

Tonks frowned. "Do the Swiss have something against us or...?"

"They got the toughest bloody enchantments in all 'o Europe." Dung said. "Smuglin' anything in and out 'o there's a right pain in the arse. Not to mention their Dementor problem."

Tonks paled. "Because of the Ten Thousand?"

"Aye, the Ten Thousand." Dung nodded, his face softening. He glanced around the room, before speaking in an octave lower. "Used to be his prison. Used to be where they brought people to be-"

"We all know the stories, Dung," interjected Aberforth. Heads bowed and eyes cast down; a moment of silence passed.

Shacklebolt broke it first by crossing his arms. "Does this mean the mission is off?"

"No," Aberforth answered quickly, before anyone could get a word in. "We'll see this through the end, one way or another. We all knew the risks when we signed up."

Dung's gaze swept the room, searching for signs of support, but was met with grim, if resolved, looks. "It ain't possible, I'm tellin' ya! We'd jus' be throwin' our lives away!"

"You just don't have the right mindset," Aberforth said.

"Min' set?" Dung repeated, brows furrowing, lips parting and a hand massaging his temples. "Fuckin' min' set? Are you tellin' me being bloody optimistic's gonna get Dumbledore out?" He paced the room, muttering all manners of expletives under his breath.

"You have a plan, sir?" Sirius asked.

"You're too focused on trying to beat the enchantments when we don't have to." Aberforth said.

"Yer still not makin' any bloody sense to me," Lily heard Dung say under his breath. "Work within the system? What? Are the Swiss jus' gonna let us walk in if we tell 'em we want to break Dumbledore out 'o Nurmengard?" Shacklebolt snorted.

"We can get wands into the country legally. Get the Trace removed too, if we play it smart."

"The Trace?" Tonks repeated. "Isn't that for underage wizards?"

"Not quite the case here, dear," Emmeline said in a patient tone. "Ministries use the Trace for a variety of things, one of which is to track magical items entering their country outside of official channels, wands in our case. Its one way countries clamp down on illegal immigrants."

"Right," Aberforth said, "as I was saying, it won't be too difficult to get the Trace removed. We do, after all, have a Metamorphmagus with us."

Dung came to an abrupt halt, giving Tonks a hard stare. "Might actually work."

"Eh?"

"Its like this, Cuz'," Sirius began, "you know how Metamorphmagi are rare?"

"...Yeah."

"It also means most Ministries don't bother to check for them when confirming who you are. Makes it easier for you to assume a false identity." Sirius turned to Aberforth, a flash of something lurking beneath his eyes. "That's it, isn't it? We use her to sneak our wands in?"

"Basically, yes."

"Um, why go through all this trouble?" Tonks scanned the room furtively. "I mean, can't we just say we're in the country on a vacation or something?"

"Heh, sure," Dung said, "if you ne'er want to set foot in Britain again, that is."

"We can't let the Swiss know our real identities," Regulus said. "Standard Ministry protocol would have us ask them for a list of all British nationals in their country when the breakout occurred. It'd be a sure way to end up interrogated by the Knights."

"It'd also be pretty suspicious if some of us disappeared," Sirius added. "Regulus, for example, would need to stay here. His duties as a Paladin require it. I'm likely unable to leave the country too, given how my family's keeping an eye on me."

Regulus nodded concurringly. "Cousin Nymphadora won't have such problems though. Neither favored enough by the Regime to be a candidate of the Ruling Administration, nor a known dissenter. She's effectively invisible to the Ministry, for the time being at least."

"The Blacks are out then," Aberforth said. "Just as well, I'd rather keep the party small. Less chance we get noticed that way."

"'fraid I won't be able to make it either," Dung said, rubbing the back of his neck. "See, I've been...told to avoid the place."

"Blacklisted, you mean," Aberforth said, rolling his eyes. "Typical. Well, you can set up the safe house in that case."

"Aight, I can do that."

"I'm _persona non grata_ here," Shacklebolt said. "The Ministry won't care if I'm out of the country, in fact, they prefer it that way. I have contacts as well in Switzerland. It will make it relatively easy for me to enter."

"Emmeline? What about you?" Aberforth asked.

"My absence might be noticeable," she said with a frown. "I could manage, but it might be better if Lily went instead. Her Patronus is better than mine."

"Evans?"

"I can manage, I think. Harry," -the hollow pain in the pit of her stomach made itself known again- "...Harry will be in Durmstrang by then. There won't be anything to hold me here."

"Good, its settled then," Aberforth said. "Now, let's talk details…"

_-The Magnate-_

_**10 April 1992**_

"Is today the day?" Gellert asked, feeling the stone dig into his back. His tattered clothes, pitiful things that could barely be called rags, were no deterrent to the cold - the ever-present cold - seeping into his bones. He stared at the steel across him, the rectangular slab that kept him caged for more years than he cared to count.

"It is," Albus answered, no doubt after recounting the blood streaks that were his makeshift calendar. "We have an hour or two, by my estimates. Will that be sufficient?"

Gellert frowned. "We'll be cutting it close."

"Then we best begin with our work."

"Agreed," Gellert said, bobbing his head. "First, we need to get out of these cells." He closed his eyes to focus on the innate magic of Nurmengard. He might not have been the architect of the physical structure, but he had enchanted, cursed, jinxed and charmed every inch of the mountain fortress. Even now, he could still read the magical blueprints, though the magic no longer heeded his wishes.

"We could break these doors down easily," Albus mused. Gellert pictured his friend stroking his beard contemplatively, as he had often done when deep in thought.

"Have you looked at yourself lately, Albus?" Though Dumbledore could not see it, Gellert raised an arm that was more bone than flesh. "We are not so young anymore, nor is the diet here meant to keep our strength up."

"The steel is not very strong," he insisted. "During my time with the Congolese tribes, I picked up a trick or two that didn't require a wand."

Gellert raised a brow. "Oh? They practice some form of necromancy, don't they?"

"Progonomancy, the art of raising of ancestors, to be technical," said Albus, "and while a useful source of information, it won't be of much help here. Rather, I was referring to their peculiar brand of conscience transference. The shamans had a fondness for golems, you see."

"How archaic," Gellert said, wrinkling his nose, "but we can make use of it. These doors will not yield to brute force alone, Albus. Still, the enchantments I have over them ensure they shall mend faster than they can be broken. I shall have to manually counteract my work if we are to succeed."

"I take it you'll need to use runes for that?"

"Yes," Gellert said. "We shall have to open my door first." He pushed himself up and looked at his hands, wrinkled and weak and worn. "For the greater good," he murmured, as soft as a mother's hush.

Then he bared his teeth and bit down, _hard_.

The primal bits of his mind screamed at him to stop, while his rational side cheered him on. _For the greater good_, he repeated, the well-worn mantra allowing him to ignore the pain.

The taste of something distinctly salty and metallic reached his tongue. It was akin to drinking from a rusted metal cup or an old ground well. Gellert spit out the bit of blood that lingered in his mouth and stared at the crimson blotch. "Can't believe vampires actually enjoy this."

He dragged his injured index finger across the door's smooth surface. All manner of symbols and equations sprang to life in his head, faster than he could inscribe them.

Slowly, the trickle of blood lessened as the innate magic of his cell worked to seal the wound; the marked runes a shade lighter than their earlier counterparts. Without hesitation, Gellert bit into flesh again, refusing to let his platelets (and magic) do their bloody work.

Again he wrote, again he bit and again he bled, until he found there was no more to be written. From top to bottom, the door was filled with crimson ink.

"Now Albus!"

The door shuddered, bits of rock actually flying inside his cell. Gellert took a few steps back, pleased to watch what _wasn't_ happening. After every hit by the…thing outside, the door's locks did not right themselves, did not strengthen their attachment to the stone. It was slow work, exceedingly so, for stone fared poorly against steel. Rocks do not break steel. But with the application of sufficient force, rocks could break the bond between the lock and the wall.

"Ah," Gellert began, relishing as wind and light burst into his room while the door banged against the wall, "how I have waited for this moment." He took a few tentative steps outside and assessed Albus' proxy.

It was a bulky, inelegant humanoid, a string of boulders held together by faint slivers of magic. Its hands were disproportionate to the rest of its mass, chipped and uneven in a way that created a dichotomy with its body's curves. No mouth to speak and a crudely shaped eye which dominated its face.

Gellert inclined his head towards where Albus' cell should be. "Let's get you out of there, shall we?"

Minutes ticked by in quiet as he redid his work, neither one speaking. Grindelwald was too engrossed with his work and Dumbledore not quite there as he lived through his rock creature. Soon, the door was baptized in blood and its ability to self-repair neutralized by the red runes.

The door remained defiant, but in the end the result was much the same.

The glazed, faraway look on Albus' face faded with his summoned being, the material that composed it dissipating with the next gust of wind.

They were _free_.

"Now comes the hard part," Gellert said, holding out a hand to his seated comrade. "We must deal with the Mountain Children."

Albus grabbed the proffered hand, pulling himself up before frowning. "Would it not be prudent to simply make head for the gates now?"

"You will not find two stones in all of Nurmengard that weren't set by the Barbegazi. Even I cannot boast of avoiding the Mountain Children in their own home."

"This will not be easy without wands," Albus said, the hands by his side clenching and unclenching, as if searching for something to hold.

"No, it won't." Gellert shut his eyes, grasping for the familiar, if unresponsive, magic, much like one would the embrace of an ex-lover. In his mind, he saw the snaking lights that went every which way, nearly blinding where they congregated and barely visible for where they frayed.

"You have a plan for dealing with them, I take it? I doubt they will be repelled by two old men bereft of wands."

"Nurmengard, like any ancient place, has its secrets." Albus kept silent, patiently waiting for his friend to continue. "There are creatures, Albus, dangerous creatures that yet sleep."

"You've sensed them?"

His lips grew taut, the movement breaking dry skin. "I've seen them."

"What are they?"

"Giants," he whispered. "Giants unlike any I've encountered, skin charcoal black and frozen. I never found out for how long they've slept, but whoever did it obviously feared waking these creatures. In their room no warmth exists, no spark or flame can be brought in." Albus was silence, no doubt mulling over his words with care. "This way," Gellert said, finally mapping a route to their intended destination.

The halls outside their cells were illuminated by radiant gems which were embedded into the walls. They were of the magical sort, Gellert had surmised long ago, for he could not detect even the slightest warmth from them. In fact, they seemed to make the very place colder.

Albus stroked his bare chin with pencil thin fingers. "Hmm, the trick to break their hibernation is obvious: heat. As for the 'how' of the matter…perhaps a potion could work…but we don't have the tools or the time for one. Attacking the enchantments in place then?"

"They are written in old Nordic, a branch I have only passing familiarity with," Gellert said. "It's a possibility, but I fear it will take me far too long to unravel the defenses, especially since I have not yet studied the runes in depth. I-" His pace quickened abruptly and to Albus' credit, he matched the change smoothly. "They're coming for us."

Albus looked to the heavens. "I thought we'd have more time than that."

"The Barbegazi must have changed their patrol schedule," Gellert said, leading them through a right turn, then a left without pause. "A dozen of them are heading for the caverns. Farther away than we are, but we can't afford to dally for long."

"I thought you said they were long abandoned. Why would they bother with them now?"

Gellert's face twisted into an ugly thing. "The Barbegazi are a hive mind with a method for near instant communication. They must have figured out our plan by approximating our location."

"Yes, given an intelligent enough mind, they could find where we are by knowing where we _aren't_. Quite ingenious," Albus said, remaining the very definition of calm.

"Only _you_ would be fascinated by that at a time like this." _So certain of escape are we, Albus?_

Albus' eyes twinkled. "What would fear accomplish? Whether I am frightened or intrigued, their capabilities remain the same. Would it not be better than to approach them with an open mind, free of crippling emotions?"

"All these years in a cage and the idealism in you hasn't been killed yet," Gellert said, halfway between awe and disbelief.

"I find that it is in one's darkest moments that our ideals become all the more important."

"Once a man has fallen into the power of another, any insult can be heaped upon him, anything can be taken from him," Gellert retorted sharply.

"Except belief," Albus answered. "That, only you can steal from yourself."

It was easy to know they had arrived at the giant's chamber. It was a cavern without any physical barrier at its mouth, but one few would willingly go into. Creeping vines of hoarfrost intermingling freely with fading old Nordic runes projected an aura of arctic chill. A grown man could freeze to death by merely standing too close to the entrance if they weren't careful.

The creature was certainly tall enough to be a giant, but far too ugly. The face was inhuman even, and its body appeared to be entirely of slag and soot and cinder. This was a creature meant to set itself, and everything around it, ablaze.

"We cannot bring fire to it from outside the room," Albus said, "and generating enough heat for a fire inside would be next to impossible without a wand."

"Not to mention we'd turn into ice if we tarry too long," Gellert said. "The only thing I can think of that would work from a distance would be sympathetic magic."

Albus turned to regard Gellert with a perfectly arched brow. "You're a practitioner?"

"I've dabbled in it. Still, I'd need to establish a bond between it and the heat source, something which Nurmengard is sorely lacking." As if to emphasize his point, a gust of wind swept by and caused his bones to protest.

"What would you need for the bond?"

Gellert rolled his shoulders. "It could be any number of things. A bond could be established based on similar composition, or size or color even. Attaching a part of a whole could be used as well if no such thing between the two exists. That's the easy part. What we have to figure out is the source."

Albus gave him a pointed look.

"…What?"

"We already have a heat source."

"You don't mean-"

"I do."

"That's insanity, Albus!" Gellert hissed. "We don't know how much we'd need to wake this creature. It could leave us both corpses for all we know! It's far too risky."

Albus chuckled. "It is a strange day indeed when Gellert Grindelwald speaks to me of risk and consequence. How far away are the Mountain Children?"

"They can't be more than five minutes away."

"Then the way I see it, either we try this now and possibly die, or face them without wands and probably die. Statistically…" he trailed off, palms apart and skyward, as if offering Gellert a selection to choose from.

Gellert's shoulders fell in defeat. "I suppose we can't back down now. We've managed to get this far." He looked at his injured finger, now clotted and bit into it for the umpteenth time. "For the bond, blood would be best." Gellert answered Albus' unasked question. "I knew escaping prison involved bloodshed, I just didn't think it'd be _my_ blood."

Albus followed his example, before an ethereal glow surrounded his eyes as he prepared to transfer his conscience once more. The wind gave a vicious shriek before gushing towards them from every possible angle, each gust carrying a bit of rock or dirt that was then stacked upon each other. Within seconds, a mound had formed. Within a minute, Albus' boulder golem walked once more.

Gellert's head began to pound with every beat of his heart as he lathered the golem's right hand with a generous portion of both their blood. "Alright, make sure this hand is touching the giant," he instructed his friend.

The golem bobbed its head and entered into the cavern, heedless of the biting cold. It was rock after all, and rocks simply did not feel.

Gellert took a deep breath, clearing his mind until there was nothing but the warmth of their bodies and the now dried blood touching the giant.

Inhale, exhale.

His extremities went numb in synchrony. Suppressing the shiver running down his spine, he willed the heat to transcend space. It was unnerving to have the cold creep up his body, leaving a trail of what felt like burning skin – ironically enough.

_Is this what it feels like to lose a limb?_ the Swiss wizard thought idly for a moment.

He knew that his arms and legs were still there, but they no longer responded to his orders. It was surreal and akin to being the victim of a body-bind spell.

Gellert looked at the giant, rallying his concentration into the task at hand. By now, only his chest, head and neck remained warm, the rest of him frostnipped. He was careful, very careful, to draw only so much heat that none of his – or Albus' for that matter – parts would require amputation after this.

Charcoal eyelids peeled up to reveal a blueness that did not belong to sky or sea, but instead was of fire. Its expression morphed from irritation to confusion to anger in a split instance.

Hastily, Gellert shut off the link, relishing as warmth slowly flowed back into his tingling body. Albus' rock creature faded away like before. Only this time, his friend was left with chattering teeth upon his return to his body.

"Magic men!" the giant said in volume normal for its kin, which was to say at the brink of deafening for people of average height.

It turned its head with stuttering motions, taking in its surroundings, which was strange considering the brash nature of giants. It pushed itself against the wall, soot and ash marking whatever it touched, and crawled forward until its head was a foot from the escapees. "Where is Surtr?" it bellowed in a language that sounded like Norwegian, emphasizing with a slap to the ground beside them. The message was clear: 'Answer my questions quickly, or get squashed like the bugs you are'.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to handle this one, Gellert. I never quite got around to learning Norwegian."

Gellert rolled his eyes. "That's just so typical of you British wizards, content with your one language," he said, ignoring the fact that Albus spoke over fifty. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Albus smile good-naturedly and give a small assenting nod.

Gellert tilted his head at this 'Surtr'. "You're in Nurmengard."

"The North Men's Shield?" it asked no one in particular.

"Is that what it means in your language?"

"Why is Surtr here?"

Gellert gritted his teeth. "You were imprisoned here by vile creatures, puny stone men who thought themselves greater than you."

At his words, the color of the giant's eyes changed from blue to the terrifying white of purest flames. "Greater than Surtr?" The temperature in the room rose by a few degrees. "GREATER THAN SURTR? Surtr smash puny stone men!" No fires erupted, but there was now a faint red to its form, made ominous by the tendrils of smoke emanating from the giant.

It was fortunate that the dozen Barbegazi chose then to arrive. If the pair of wizards was like ants to the Giant, the Mountain Children were the most miniscule of breadcrumbs.

"SURTR SEE PUNY STONE MEN!" it roared, leaving Gellert temporarily deaf in one ear. Albus and Gellert hastily sidestepped the existing giant, 'lest they become permanently joined to the floor by means of excessive pressure.

The Barbegazi watched the giant with confusion and fear, or so Gellert assumed. It was rather hard to tell honestly, what with the lighting of Nurmengard's halls dimming to better hide the residents of the mountain fort and the stone grey skin of the dwarves that melted into the walls if one didn't watch closely.

Surtr had no such problems. Or if it did, it didn't seem to mind. With every swing of its massive arms, there was a good chance of hitting something anyway. Three of the Barbegazi were smashed into the wall, their bodies quite literally _shattering_ upon impact. The others scattered and tried to fight back, but their steel weapons seemed to be mere pinpricks to the giant. They probably did hurt, but they simply didn't _do _enough damage to threaten Surtr.

Gellert turned away from the slaughter to inspect the Nordic inscriptions. "There are stories about giants like this among the Scandinavians in the far north. The Jotnar, they were named, and these fire wielders in particular were heralds of the end times – the Ragnarok."

"I rather thought they seemed like the Heliopaths a Xenophilius Lovegood wrote to me about, back in my days as a Chief Warlock. Once Surtr has regained his fire, I could see him being described as 'a malevolent spirit that burned everything in its path.'" Surtr shuffled his feet, sending one unfortunate warrior who had been hacking ineffectually at his toe flying.

"I wouldn't mind having a few of these fellows on my side in a fight," Albus continued. "Could you imagine having to face a few of these-" -another pair of the Mountain Children crumbled under Surtr's relentless rage- "-in the open where its movements wouldn't be so restricted, with their bodies wreathed in fire? In the face of such a truly terrifying visage, only the most ardent wouldn't throw down their wands."

Gellert snorted. "At the risk of having them crush your own people. They're not exactly creatures of finesse."

"Oh, I wouldn't have them actually take to the field. They're just there to scare off the faint of heart and break morale faster. That way, less people have to die."

"Stone men no more!" Surtr said, smacking a fist into an open palm. "Magic men, Surtr want more stone men to crush!"

"Not to worry, Surtr!" Gellert bellowed as loud as he could manage, which probably sounded to the giant like a mouse's squeaking still. "Where we're going, there will be plenty of stone men for you to crush!"

Surtr bobbed his head in a content fashion. "Show Surtr the way, magic men."

Gellert walked past the giant and the recently shattered rock fragments that littered the halls. "What I don't understand is how a giant from Scandinavia made it this far south, hundreds of years ago."

"It might have come over with the Vikings. Their reach was fairly wide in the ninth to eleventh centuries."

"None of their ships reached this far inland," Gellert said. "But…perhaps a group of settling Vikings could have made the trip overland. From Sicily to here is about a thousand kilometers...not so far, even for the people of that era."

"Why though?"

"To get it away from its source of power, perhaps?" Gellert mused. "If we assume its natural element to be fire, it would be stronger near volcanoes, of which there are none in Switzerland. Ready to use fortresses as good as this one can't be found just anywhere either."

"A plausible theory," Albus said with a tilt of his head, "one definitely worth looking into once we leave."

"I…hmm, the Barbegazi's movement patterns are shifting."

"Towards us?"

"Away from us mostly," Gellert said. "They're gathering their strength just before the gates, though a small party is in the way, probably buying time for more of them to arrive."

"They've given up on hunting us then, and are content to let us come to them. These creatures are crafty. Now I see why you did not eradicate them and instead bound their will to the Elder Wand. They make for excellent wardens indeed."

"They excel in many roles," Gellert said in an oddly subdued voice, "warden being the least among them."

The next group of stone men they, or rather Surtr, faced numbered thrice the last one. They were adapting too for instead of dimming the lights, they made them brighter, _harsher_ and let them flicker at a blinding rate. Had their opponent been the conventional sort, it might have worked. What they failed to grasp, however, was that Surtr's style of fighting didn't depend on his sense of sight. No, a berserker relied on his abnormal strength and wild, erratic thrashing to get the job done. Scholars may argue the effectiveness of the method, but at the end of the day Surtr remained and his enemies didn't. That was enough for Gellert.

"I don't rightly know whether to be happy, so close as we are to escaping, or annoyed that the prison I built isn't perfect." Gellert said, frowning.

"Oh, my injured pride!"

Gellert glared at his friend, but there was no sting to it. An incessant force tugged at his lips, threatening to betray him. "We're close," he said, as they passed where his likeness used to stand. In its place was a statue of an inhumanly handsome fellow, with an angular face that framed mesmerizing, brown eyes. There was something…_magnetic_ about him.

_If I were a few decades younger..._

"That was Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"I can see why people follow him. It's easy to get behind a face like that, especially if he has even an ounce of charm in him."

"Charm," Albus began, "has always been Tom's greatest weapon. He wields it as well as he does a wand."

The top half of Nurmengard's gates came into view, the other half lost behind layer upon layer of the Barbegazi. They were armed with spear, halberd, pike and all manner of pole weapons, exactly what one should use in great numbers. Without a word of command, their weapons locked into place, ready to repel the escapees.

"SURTR CRUSH!" the giant screamed, rushing forward with reckless disregard for its own health. The red that wreathed its body turned into an eerie blue, dispelling the chill of Nurmengard. A massive hand slammed into the earth, liquefying the poor fools that stood there. Surtr did not let its momentum go to waste, swishing its arm to and fro, creating large gaps among the endless grey.

Then, the Barbegazi did something Gellert had never seen them do before. Their ranks _parted _like the Red Sea before Surtr, opening a clear path to the gates.

"Go, now!" Gellert's attempt at sprinting ended up like drunken stumbling. Suddenly, something yanked him up, though he was still closing in on the gates. He looked to his left and saw Albus' still body in the palm of his rock golem.

None of the Barbegazi bothered to bar the way, their attention now solely on Surtr, who was slowly being lured towards the entrance, underneath a trapdoor that held burning oil.

_That would only make him stronger_, Gellert thought. _Unless…they switched the oil with something else. Something like-_

The metal of the gates clanged as they were pushed aside by Albus' creature. A barrage of sensations assaulted Gellert – the feeling of the sun's fleeting kisses on his face, the roar of water as it dropped, the smell of his native land's fresh, crisp air. One stood out in particular though: the sight of falling flakes, the very definition of white.

He turned his head, words of warning already on his tongue. Too late though, as the trapdoors swished open, unloading a sea of snow onto Surtr. Had it been something else, the giant would have shrugged it off easily, but snow was crystallized water ice – Surtr's elemental opposite.

The blue hue which protected its body faded to red once more as it melted some of the snow, only for it to turn to water that continued to dampen Surtr's power. If it hadn't been weakened by years of inactivity, if it had been near a heat source, Surtr might have withstood it. As things were? It stood no chance.

Soon, even the red faded to nothing and the light in Surtr's eyes died, or so Gellert imagined. He was too far to see the details now. He did hear one last thing, however.

"Surtr…sleep…now."

Like a breaking dam, the Barbegazi surged out of the gates, intent on recapturing those who would besmirch Nurmengard's reputation and good name. Albus' creature stopped just before a short chasm that separated the fortress from the world. Howling winds, enchanted to be as fierce as any hurricane, raged about. Anyone who tried to traverse these currents would quickly hover out of control before taking a mandatory 250 meter dive into the rocky floor that the waterfall led to.

_The bridge isn't raised! We need a wand for – is that Aberforth?_

Across the chasm, Gellert could see a motley group, no doubt the help Albus promised, led by none other than his friend's brother. The rattling of metal from behind grew even closer.

"LEGILLIMENS!" he screamed, shooting Aberforth a look that could have pierced his very soul. He reacted as expected, with resentment that lingered behind wide eyes and a shield positioned with expert precision.

_Perfect, _was Gellert's last thought, as he felt the other Dumbledore tinkering with his thoughts. Aberforth could only see what Gellert willed him to see, however, and there was only one thing he needed him to see: how to raise the bridge.

Weakened from blood loss and the day's activities, the last of his strength fled from him, dragging his conscience into the abyss.

The last thing he heard was the rumble of the earth.

_-The Magnate-_

The earth rumbled in response to the spell Aberforth had cast, great slabs of stone jutting out from both sides of the chasm in quick succession. Soon, an uninterrupted walkway was in place, allowing the strange rock being that carried Dumbledore and his companion passage. It moved with surprising speed, though with an awkward gait.

"They're not moving fast enough," Aberforth said. Indeed, just behind the escapees was a horde of grey-skinned dwarves armed with a panoply of pole arms, closing the gap quickly, too quickly. "Watch our flanks for Dementors! Shacklebolt! On me!" Aberforth barked out, striding forward while his wand was already drawing patterns in the air.

Kingsley did not hesitate, following just a step behind Aberforth and mimicking the pattern. A second later, twin jets of white spiralled wobbily past Dumbledore, dragging a steady stream of snow that settled just before the pursuers. More and more of the white substance came forth, until a segment of the bridge was covered in two meters of the stuff, forcing the dwarves to wade through it at a torturously slow pace. Another jab turned snow to crystalline ice, trapping the creatures.

Aberforth's body stiffened as Dumbledore approached. "Just had to bring him along, didn't you?" he asked, bitterness seeping into every word.

"Gellert was essential to my escape," Dumbledore replied, "and it would be terribly ungrateful of me to leave him behind when there was no apparent need to."

The rock creature dropped its passengers next to Aberforth, before dissipating into grainy mist.

"Why's he unconscious?" Aberforth asked, redoing the spell on bridge. Segments of rock began to upturn, breaking up the ice and dumping its contents into the chasm.

"He's lost too much blood."

"Shacklebolt, the Blood-Replenishing Potion," Aberforth ordered, even as he revived Grindelwald. The mercenary brought over a vial of crimson liquid which was promptly poured down Grindelwald's throat. The blonde tried to stand, but Aberforth's hand kept him down. "Let the potion do its work first."

It was only up close that Lily realized how much the years had changed Dumbledore. He was more skeleton than man now, without hair to cover wrinkled skin. His smile too was different, close-lipped instead of the wide, beaming one she had grown up with.

"Masks on!" Aberforth barked. "Before anyone catches our faces."

"Are these things even smart enough for that?" Tonks asked, tweaking her features until she was no longer recognizable. A perk of being a Metamorphmagus.

Lily grabbed at the mask within her cloak before cupping it with her hands. Strange that it was now her and her allies who had to hide who they were, when less than a decade ago it was the Death Eaters who did so.

_How the times have changed,_ she thought, donning the mask.

"Closest we could find to your wand," Aberforth said, handing his brother thirteen inches of maple around dragon heartstring.

Dumbledore grasped for it eagerly, sending brilliant silver sparks shooting out from the tip upon contact. The very _air _hummed, faint lines distorting Lily's vision for a second. "Thank you, Aberforth." Lily could only imagine the relief he must be feeling, being able to do magic after so many years. Then, abruptly, Dumbledore's eyes widened, his expression turning aghast.

Aberforth, noticing as well, placed a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Tom did something to me, _warped _my magic or...no, a spell system to keep me from escaping." He began to pace, bone knuckles tightening. "Anti-Portkey, Animagus Bind, Concealment Disruption," Dumbledore murmured, "Anti-Glamour, Polyjuice Inhibitor, Phoenix-Bane, Scrying Eye."

_Scrying Eye...that's an advanced Tracking Charm. _Lily's eyes widened. "He's coming? Here?" she asked, eyes scanning the sky.

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspect he will arrive within minutes. A clever trap, one I did not foresee beforehand."

"What are we waiting for then?" Tonks asked. a slight tremble in her voice. "Let's Disapparate before he gets here!"

"It would serve no purpose. So long as these spells remain on me, Tom will be alerted of my location at every instance of wand magic."

_Including Disapparition_.

"Can't you get rid of it?" Aberforth asked.

"I cannot say for certain. A few minutes of thorough inspection should tell me more."

"As quick as you can," Aberforth said. "Damn it! We'd be better off fighting the Dementor Swarms than the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore turned to Lily. "Ms. Evans, your help wouldn't be amiss. Another pair of eyes might hold the key to our predicaments."

"Of course, sir."

Dumbledore knelt, raising pillars from the ground with a mere wave. Then, he grabbed a handful of snow, which turned into spiders at the barest flicker of his wand.

"_Web_." He spoke and the transfigured animals obeyed. The insects scurried towards the pillars...twisting, measuring, weaving, until the silk lines formed the outlines of a three-dimensional heptagon. "As I suspected, he's bound the spells together. This will not be easy." The spiders changed vectors suddenly, distorting the half-formed figure until it was awkward and almost painful to look at.

"Dark magic," Lily whispered. That was the only explanation for the unusual spell geometry. "Is it the Phoenix-Bane?"

Dumbledore frowned. "No, I accounted for that in my spell. It should not have affected the webbing, not to this degree. There must be something else at work." Again, the spiders made a sharp turn, leaving the silk webbings in an unidentifiable abstract.

"Are you done yet?" Aberforth asked, the lines of his face taut. Behind him, Grindelwald was limping forward with the assistance of Shacklebolt. "We need to get out of here."

"It seems we're out of options," Dumbledore said. "Stand back, I will attempt to Overwhelm." Lily backpedalled by several feet before taking cover behind a tree.

Overwhelming, Satisfaction, Unravelling - of the three curse breaking methods, the first was the least elegant. It was not the use of an equal and opposite, like Satisfaction, nor the direct manipulation of an internal structure, such as Unravelling. Instead, it relied on brute power to undo the spell. For advanced pieces of magic, the possibility of catastrophic backlash warranted a healthy dose of paranoia.

Dumbledore waited, whistling a jaunty tune, as Grindelwald was helped to cover. He did a final scan of his surroundings, then raised his wand high.

"_Finite Incantatem!_"

Waves of magic poured out from him, prickling Lily' skin and forcing her a step back. For a moment everything was quiet as the power was sapped out of the air.

Then Dumbledore frowned.

"That's not supposed to happen," Grindelwald said.

"No, it's not," Dumbledore agreed. "There is something...redirecting my magic, making it interact differently with the spells."

"The only thing I can think of powerful enough to do that would be Blood Magic," Grindelwald said.

"But Blood Magic is defensive by nature!" Lily blurted out.

"That rule hasn't been broken," Grindelwald countered. "It's defending the spell system against Albus. That would make it impossi-"

Voldemort's appearance in the sky was heralded by booming thunder. For a moment, he stood in the air, solitary and draped in resplendent green, like a King greeting his wayward children. An instant later, all manners of restrictive enchantments fell into place, blocking off their avenues of magical escape.

"Impressive," Voldemort declared upon his descent, the silver circlet atop his head perfectly in place and catching what sunlight was present. "The first man to escape from Nurmengard alive."

"Admittedly Tom, I had some assistance on that end," Dumbledore said dipping his head.

Voldemort's eyes flickered towards the treeline, seemingly unperturbed by the evocation of his given name. "Ah, Gellert Grindelwald, the Architect himself. And my, my Albus. Your very own masked followers." He smirked. "You're becoming more like me each day, Albus."

"And you like me, Tom," Dumbledore answered, a tad quicker than usual. "I like to think we learn from each other."

"Perhaps," Voldemort said, tilting his head slightly, wand of elder wood in hand.

"So eager for your next lesson already, Tom?" Dumbledore asked. "You always were a curious one."

"You'll soon discover that I-" -malevolent red erupted from Voldemort- "-am the one giving the lesson!"

Dumbledore was already reacting, hundreds of conjured birds flying into the barrage of curses, flying in so many layers that nothing could get past.

"_Keno_!" Voldemort shouted, his tone imperious as he willed _reality _to become something it was not. A tear appeared in the air, a gaping, ominous void and the flight of the flock _changed_.

"I need a wand!" Lily heard Grindelwald scream, even as the hole disappeared, taking with it the conjured animals. Kingsley had joined the fray now, shielding Dumbledore from an oncoming stream of curses.

Voldemort shot into the air, the ground where he once stood morphing into a pool of molten rock. Hands of stone attempted to swat him back into the ground, but he proved too agile in the air and -

His direction of flight changed as he dropped towards the bubbling lava below.

_Silk into steel._

A difficult Transfiguration, it weighed the Dark Lord down to a point where the modified Levitation Charm could no longer support him. Here the tight fitting nature of the robes worked against Voldemort as he struggled to move his wand, to turn it on himself so he could undo the Transfiguration.

Kingsley dropped his shield, going on the offensive against Voldemort to seal his fate.

Then he was down, writhing on the ground in pain, dark tendrils creeping up along his arm.

Lily was about to step out to help when an arm held her back. "Don't." Aberforth grunted out, giving her a stern look. "Leave the fighting to them. You're better off finding a way to break whatever enchantment's keeping my brother here."

"We don't have the time to find the right spell to Satisfy, nor do we know enough to safely Unravel. And an Overwhelm would be impossible. If Dumbledore couldn't do it-"

"It's because of the Blood Magic." Grindelwald said, hurrying over with a wand. Tonks followed after without hers. "It's forcing Albus' magic to protect the spell system, acting as a reinforcement of sorts. That's why the Overwhelming failed." Then he frowned. "Still, its a link bound by the Elder Wand. I doubt we could break it. Weakened as Albus is now, his magic would be a formidable defense to overcome. We have to weaken him further."

"How? We don't have the material necessary for a Bleeding or-" A solemn look told Lily all she needed to know. "You want to use the Dementors!"

"It's the fastest way."

"To get that effect we'd need to call forth hundreds of them!"

Grindelwald's face grew heavier and his shoulders slumped, but his voice did not falter. "That will be the easy part."

"He could have his _soul _sucked out! He's as good as dead if that happens!"

"And if we don't try it, he'll be truly dead!" Grindelwald shot back just as quickly.

"Whatever you two decide on, make it fast!" Aberforth barked, stalking away from them and towards the battle. "Have to get them out of there."

"I can buy you some time," Grindelwald said.

Splotches of magma continued to dot the earth. Voldemort was in constant motion, zigzagging across the field, his robes returned to their normal state. Shacklebolt's arm began to dissipate, as if acid was biting into it. Dumbledore stood in front of his downed ally, steadfastly holding his shield against the barrage of curses. It would not hold indefinitely...

_-The Magnate-_

"Come now, Albus!" Voldemort said. "I'd expected more of a challenge from you!"

Albus' chest rose and fell, each intake of air a laborious task for his frail form. Voldemort took a step forward as Dumbledore was forced one back, the Shattering Hex making his shield flicker.

"You'll have...to forgive...an old man...for his failing...strength." Dumbledore shivered, a slight tremble affecting his hand. He released another shuddering breath, now visible in the falling temperature.

"What's the matter? Feeling a little chilly?" Voldemort asked, letting a feral grin show. "Let me warm you up then!"

Wand held aloft, a stream of _malicious_ fire billowed out, roaring like a beast set free. It grew exponentially, taking the form of a dragon, snarling and hissing at the puny wizards, but not striking. Not yet.

To his credit, Dumbledore did not seem disturbed by the prospect of being at His mercy, of being face to face with Death itself. He seemed calm, happy even and Dumbledore smiled.

_Dumbledore smiled!_

He smiled too, carelessly flicking his wand to raise a protective dome around Him, just in time to stop a black panther from biting His head off and -

He felt a slight quiver at His feet, and glanced down, annoyed to find them buried in quicksand. Before he could do anything about it, He sensed _something_, making him look up and see the Fiendfyre - _His _Fiendfyre - surging towards Him. _You dare to turn My own magic against Me?_

_Stop. _It's charge broke against His stare.

_Obey. _It turned around.

_Burn. _

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, when will you realize, Albus? No matter how today plays out, you _cannot _win."

The air around him seemed to buzz and -

His dome stopped a bolt of lightning from smiting Him, the deep sound of a struck gong reverberating in the air. Already, Dumbledore was gone, switched out from beneath the fiery dragon by a blonde wizard. Voldemort made a show of sighing, as if He found the whole thing entirely bothersome. Inside, He was ecstatic.

"Gellert Grindelwald." A swish of His wand and the quicksand, now at His knees, vanished. "Showing yourself at last?"

"I was never hiding," Grindelwald said. "I hope you've enjoyed your time with the wand."

Voldemort raised a brow at him, an amused expression settling on his face. "You think you can take it from me? _You_, when you lost to him?"

"You'll find," he began, letting the words roll off his tongue like molasses, "that I do not hold back against the likes of you, that I do not _restrict _myself."

A gust passed by, chillier than before and -

He barely noticed any movement from Grindelwald, and yet the winds shrieked, the force of an entire storm channeled into one blast of air. His Fiendfyre was sent ten meters back, closer to Him now than Grindelwald.

_Depulso_, his mind instantly supplied. The Banishing Charm - a spell versatile enough to be taught, and simple enough to be taught to fourth years.

Then Grindelwald was in the air, too high up for the Fiendfyre to reach him.

_Whip, _Voldemort ordered and the dragon consumed itself to become as He desired, one end connecting to the tip of His wand. He ascended after His prey, sending His lash of fire hunting. It crackled and popped, the first strike hitting just below Grindelwald's feet.

The second struck true, coiling around his ankle.

Grindelwald turned his wand against the fire whip, dissolving it into ash, and began a furious barrage of offensive spells against Him.

Lights danced in mid-air, a splash of color against the darkening clouds. Grindelwald was fast, but He was faster, better, for He was Lord Voldemort and no relic from a bygone era was going to match Him.

There! The tiniest lull amidst the rapid spellfire.

_A counterfeit! _Voldemort snarled. _He couldn't truly fly, not without his wand_.

At the next lull, he jabbed his wand at Grindelwald, and he sensed more than saw a jolt go through his opponent's wand hand. For a moment nothing moved, but then Grindelwald began falling, as if the strings holding him suspended in the air had been cut.

"_LUMOS_!" The heavens roared, echoing Grindelwald, the light of a miniature sun bursting forth. _Desperate._

Voldemort was forced to look away for an instance, his ears ringing and spots dotting his vision. He didn't need to see to follow though. When he looked again, Grindelwald's descent had slowed by enough that they landed at the same time.

"Our audience is arriving!" Voldemort cackled out in the lull of combat. A dark swarm gathered overhead, ten feet tall and cloaked in blackness.

Grindelwald matched His laugh with a grim smile, a flicker of - worry, was it? - in his eye. "_Expecto Patronum_." A phoenix of blinding white began to circle, keeping the soul thieves away from the two of them. "It wouldn't do to have these pesky things interrupt now, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't," Voldemort said, His own Patronus, a Basilisk, joining the Phoenix in warding off the growing swarm. "You could join me, you know."

"Scared of losing are we?"

"Of wasting potential," Voldemort corrected. "I'm always on the lookout for competent lieutenants for my new world order."

"I'll have to decline," Grindelwald said. "I don't do well with orders."

"Such a shame." _Victory is assured._

Green lights arced across the field.

_-The Magnate-_

A mountain goat, a jackrabbit and an abraxan.

"Uh, h-how much l-longer?" Tonks asked. Her jackrabbit was starting to flicker against the Dementors, struggling to hold. The fact that she had to use Kingsley's wand while her own had been pilfered by Grindelwald did not make it easier on her.

"Fifteen seconds," Lily said through gritted teeth. "Get ready to Disapparate out when it happens."

_Ten, nine, eight…_

From the corner of her eye, she saw Tonks nod mutely and grab a hold of Kingsley's remaining arm.

_Seven, six, five..._

The Dementors began to close in, swirling around the small circle their Patroni afforded them. There were hundreds…

_Four, three, two…_

"NOW!" Aberforth bellowed, the mountain goat glowing brighter, circling faster.

Her abraxan disappeared and she turned her wand on Dumbledore in an instant. "_FINITE INCANTATEM!_" A sense of euphoria filled her as the the spell system shattered. "_FINITE INCANTATEM!_" she chanted again, directing her magic towards the enchantments that kept them here and -

Cold, skeletal hands gripped her shoulders.

Aberforth turned and knelt to grab Dumbledore, eyes widening in alarm as they passed her. "Evans, beh-"

"Go!" Lily managed to shout, her thoughts becoming a murky jumble.

Pop! Pop!

And she was alone.

_I have always been alone_.

"Not," the creature behind her whispered, "always."

"We can't leave Britain, Lily! This is our home!"

"The Ministry declares in favor of James Potter on the matter of Harry Potter's custody, pursuant to Ministry Decree-"

"She's NOT my mother! I don't know her. I never even met her! What kind of mother abandons her son and never even checks up on him!"

"I _hate _her!"

_He hates me_.

"He hates you."

_Anything but this._

"Anything?" It leaned in closer, now above her. When had she fallen?

"Just remember," it said, each word enunciated ever so slowly, sounding like crushed glass grinding against each other, "you asked for this to happen."

The Dementor drew back its hood - mouth already open - and leaned close.

White amidst black.

**AN: So...yeah, I'm back?**


End file.
